It's been 6 weeks and 2 days since Pally went to Heaven. I'm tearing as I type this. However, I wanted to recount the minutes and hours of "that day" in writing in case they fade away; however, I have a feeling those moments will remain quite ingrained in my memory.

Shortly after Pally passed, Temeica called the hospice line. Hospice made sure to remind us to call them and not 911 because it would be a logistical mess. And within an hour or so, the hospice nurse came to take care of all paperwork, to call the funeral home (I'd spoken to them the day before), and to empty all of the narcotics. 😜

You'd think that the atmosphere after Pally passed was quiet, and somber. It was actually quite the opposite: joyful, loud, chaotic-kinda like Home Alone when Joe Pesci shows up at the beginning of the movie pretending to be a cop. Pally's body was just lying there in her bed, and throughout the house, there was laughter, yelling, music, and yes, crying, of course. Alan continued to be the in-house barista, making lattes for everyone, including the hospice nurse. (No narcotics in her latte, promise). 

The funeral home came by 10:30 and they gave us time with Pally. Even these gentlemen were surprised at how crazy it was in our house. We loved on Pally a few more times before they transferred her to a gurney. They were so delicate with her as they draped her with this red, velvet-like blanket; we also asked them to keep her blanket with heavenly saints on it with her. (Crazy to think Pally has met these saints in Heaven ❤️‍🔥). We followed her out to their minivan, almost like a procession. They loaded her in next to an empty gurney and I joked around with the guys asking if Pally was getting a roommate before she gets to the funeral home. "Oh, no Maam. I assure you, we won't be making any stops." 🤣 After they closed the trunk, that same man said to us, "I've been doing this for over 10 years. I've never met a family like yours before. You guys were just so cool. You got something special going on here. Keep it up." 🥹

We offered them our gratitude for taking care of Pally and then we watched them drive away with her. 

I remember taking a deep breath watching that red Chrysler Pacifica turn the corner. I'm still taking deep breaths. I stare at her empty bed, still in the same spot in our living room, wishing she were still here with us, but accepting the plan God has always designed for her and for our family.

To be continued...