"Do or do not. There is no try." -Yoda (taken from the front of Scott's funeral program)

Tuesday was the day we had the funeral.
It was short and sweet.
If he could have planned this ceremony personally, it would have happened exactly the same way.
The director at the funeral parlor suggested they help with the flowers, program, and music but I thought that was pretty much the worst idea. Ever.
I wanted it to feel like Scott.
So I said, "Ex-nay on the help. I'll do it up right."
True story.
Ironically, Scott liked to make other people laugh but didn't like to be the center of attention.
He was somewhat introverted?
He did not even enjoy celebrating his birthday.
Who doesn't enjoy birthdays?
Hooligans, that's who.
So we kept the service simple and brief.
We absolutely did not sing "God Be With You 'til We Meet Again."
That song is the lousiest.
We sang it at my mom's funeral and it was the saddest part.
If you were to have asked Scott what his favorite hymn was, he most likely would have answered, "If You Could Hie to Kolob" because it is obscure and strange.
Figures.
We sang, "Nearer My God to Thee," and "Abide with Me, 'Tis Even Tide."
They were beautiful, although I couldn't choke out a single bar.
And the flowers! The flowers were perfect.
There was a lot of curly willow, and drippy, earthy stems.
My instructions were specifically, "I want the arrangement to be something you would find sprouting from the forest in Middle Earth."

^^ Where Scott is most likely living right now ^^

That is a Lord of the Rings reference. I think.
Truthfully whenever Scott talked about that trilogy, my eyes glazed over and crickets began chirping.
But he loved them. blah blah.
My sister and girlfriend nailed it.
But the piéce de résistance was the bagpiper.
He was the bomb dot com.
No, we aren't Scottish.
And no, Scott didn't know how to play.
But he really wanted to learn.
After the only vacation we literally ever took (to the U.K.), Scott yearned to play.
He brought it up all the time.
And I quote, "I really want to learn to play the bagpipes. On a hilltop. Wearing a kilt. That is blowing in the breeze. Sans underwear."
Anyway, he really honestly did want to learn and I knew that I had to have a piper play.
Just one really beautiful, loud song.
And I did it to make Scott happy.
Because I completely think he was there. I think that sort of thing is allowed.
Even if no one else understood why in the world we would have a bagpiper blaring at his funeral, he would get it. And probably laugh.
He played, "For the love of the Princess," which is the theme song from Braveheart. Another one of Scott's cinematic favs.
Following that, I got up to speak.
Truthfully, it was somewhat of a blur.
I talked about who Scott was. And how much I love him.
I wasn't sure how I would feel standing at the pulpit, delivering his eulogy, but it didn't really feel like a choice. I just had to. I never really considered not doing it.
And I felt remarkably calm. I don't remember stuttering through it.
I felt strong in that moment.
And then I tripped down the stairs on my way back to my seat.
His dad was the concluding speaker, and really brought it home.
He talked about Scott as a willful, yet playful child. But also how smart, talented, and versatile he was.
It was just right.
As the pallbearers rose to escort the casket out of the chapel, I stood, gripping my sister for stability. Then a quiet, wistful melody tinkled from the piano.
I recognized it; couldn't place it; and then began crying as I identified the theme from Lord of the Rings float softly through the room.
My mother's best friend stayed up all night in order to learn that song, as a gift to me. And a tribute to Scott.
It makes me ache when I hear it, because I feel like I just had him with me. Like I couldn't possibly have lost him.
And we're laying on our couch, relaxing to Enya, on a lazy Sunday.
It was the most thoughtful token, one I weep just thinking about.
I am actually crying right this minute.
Because I just can't wrap my mind around my new reality.
He was so full of life, maybe a little too full at times.
And he worked so hard. Made so many sacrifices. In my behalf and in our children's.
How can that be gone in an instant? How can someone so young, so strong, just be gone?
I think about that a lot.
But I know he isn't really gone. He's around.
Sometimes, when I am laying in my bed at night, I imagine that he might be there, laying on his side, stroking my hair or holding my hand. Just so I don't have to be alone.
And sometimes I think maybe my mom could be there too.
You know so there are three of us in there, instead of just me.
I was told she was at his funeral, beside me as I stood and talked about him.
I like that idea. And I think that is also allowed.
I am grateful for my family. The ones around me in body and spirit.
Sure I wish they were all here in the flesh, but I am starting to realize that having them during this part of my life was never the plan.
I thought it was part of my plan, but I can't see the whole plan.
Only my Heavenly Father is privy to that kind of info, and His plan leads me down a totally different path.
The more willing I am to accept that, the easier my days go.
Does that make sense? The life that Scott and I spent so much time building was never going to come to fruition.
It wasn't. I wanted it to.
Heck I still want it to.
But my path veers in a totally different direction.
One that I have yet to pinpoint.
Right now the path includes getting out of bed in the morning, taking care of my children, stressing out the remainder of the day, and tucking myself in with a sleeping pill at the end of the night.
But I am trying to remember that there are always things to be grateful for.
Always.