I have blogged quite a bit lately about my dad passing away. I don’t mean to go on and on about it as if it is the latest news story but there is just one more thing I need to say. That is, that sometimes it takes a village to process grief.

I had over fifty people send condolences via Facebook. Each and every message meant so very much to me. I had several people text me and send sympathy cards. I even had a sympathy card from my alma mater. Every bit of kindness was appreciated.

When I was home my sister shared with me an email she got from one of her friends who said to savor each moment of my dad’s passing. That may seem strange but it made a lot of sense to me.

I spent time talking with people I had not talked with for over thirty years. I enjoyed every conversation I had.

One of the women I talked with was the mother of one of my grade school friends. I mentioned to her that my son and I had just missed my dad’s last breath by about an hour. She said she had missed her mother’s passing also but her memories of her were not of her last breath but of her living moments.

I took that in and digested that wisdom as if it were a luxurious buffet. I thought about the week I had gone to visit my dad when he was still alive and how great it was to tell him how much I loved him and appreciated him. I remembered his handsome smile and him telling me “thank you” about five times or more when I told him he was the best dad ever. Of all the weeks I have lived, that week was one of the best.

I grew up in a small town and didn’t much care for it when I was growing up. Yet, in my dad’s passing, I realized how much that village had been a part of him and that village was now such a comfort to me.