As my friends, family and Facebook buddies already know, I’ve been in Utah for the last week for the funeral of my brother and his bride of almost three years.  This blog isn’t about exposing my most private and tearful moments, so I won’t go into details.  I will just touch on a few thoughts for you, my patient blog readers.

I remember the feeling of support, and love that can be held in the hand or hugged close.  The skeptics of the world who believe that the only way we have of touching and impacting each other is through our physical senses have never been literally held upright by the prayers and concentrated love of friends and family.  It’s real, and I am so grateful for everyone who has turned their mental and emotional energy to holding up my family during this time.

I remember the peace I felt standing in front of my grandparents’ gravestone.  It’s a giant rock, recovered from the Rocky Mountains that my grandparents loved so much.  When they died, four days apart, two-and-a-half years ago, the grief and loss was almost overpowering.  Standing at their headstone now and looking at the double graves of my brother and sister-in-law, right beside them, it was comforting to know that time really does heal.  We are alive, we live and love, and over time we remember with joy instead of sorrow our departed love ones.

I’ll always remember the mental picture of the many nieces and nephews of my brother and his wife standing behind the caskets, and the moment when they each released a bright balloon into the sky.  In a rainbow contrast to the blue sky and fluffy clouds, the balloons traveled together and seemed eager for the journey.

Fly home, fly free, and know that you are loved.