A grief observed

Well I haven't felt able to blog for a few weeks now, but I thought I might just put a few words down.
The death of our father last week has brought an end of an era, or at least that's how it feels. The funeral is on Monday.
We all count it a real privilege to have been with him at the last, and he waited till we were all present, or so it would seem.
As a Christian Minister I deal with the grieving fairly often, but I haven't been prepared for my own grief. This is "the day" which you long for least and yet which you know is inevitable.
I have found myself crying at the strangest of times - driving behind the wheel, or listening to music, or looking at photo's of dad. There has been laughter too, and there has been busyness as these moments always seem to bring stuff that has to be done in preparation. I haven't been prepared for the waves of grief: one moment I can be absolutely fine and feel ready to throw myself into work and activity, and the next grief comes at you from behind you and overwhelms you, and then it is gone again. And then hours later it comes again.
We have caught ourselves doing the things that Dad would do; instinctively and without thought busying ourselves practically, or by funny and peculiar habits than seem inbred within our family.
My brothers and I are to share a tribute each at the service on Monday, and it is the preparation of these words that has left me both empty in tears, and full with pride and joy to have had such a Dad as we have had. So many talents and abilities and experiences, many of which have been passed on (and continue to be) through the generations. It has been in the writing of the flower cards that tears have come most rapidly. "Thank you Dad for giving us everything; safe in the arms of Jesus now; no more suffering."
So we move towards Monday with trepidation and with the Christian hope: "Jesus said I am the resurection and the life. He who believes in me, though he die, he shall live."