The week of the funeral, things stayed pretty busy. My daughters and other family and friends all came into town, and my house was full of grandkids. It was also an emotional roller coaster. One of the tasks my daughters had was to go through Cassidy’s clothes and choose what they want. Watching the closet get gradually thinner was hard. The holes on the rack corresponded to holes in my heart. I didn’t realize how accustomed I was to seeing her clothes hanging. Nor how difficult it would be to see them gone.

Staying busy was, in reality, a double-edged sword. It made the time pass more easily, but it did not afford me any chance to grieve. For me it all came to a head right before the funeral. Cassidy was placed in the Relief Society room of the church building so we could have a family prayer before the funeral. As it happened, there was a moment where I was alone with Cassidy in the casket. I sat next to her, and I sobbed uncontrollably. It was impossible for me to not cry. There was so much grief, relief, sorrow, and longing all wrapped up in that cry. It lasted only a few minutes but was an important release for me.

The funeral went beautifully. It was a fitting tribute to my bride. The closing hymn was a recording of Amazing Grace Cassidy had made about a year before she passed. It felt appropriate for Cassidy and her angelic voice to close out her funeral.

After the funeral, my house was full of friends and family, full of music, tears, laughter, and the heartwarming chaos of being with family. It was a poor set up for the weight that was about to drop on me.

The day after the funeral was really, really, hard. Hard is such a stupid word, it says everything and nothing. But I don’t know how else to describe it. The Saturday after the funeral was the first day since Cassidy died that I didn’t have anything I needed to do. All my grief, longing, and sorrow hit me all at once. I couldn’t sit still. I kept feeling a need to run away from the emotional pain, but there was nowhere to go. It just kept hitting me like waves in the ocean, grinding me into the sands of grief without letting me breathe.

It was a horrible day. But I made it through. Giving advice to other widowers, brace for the tidal wave that hits after the funeral. Brace for it, because you still need to get up and go back to work, so you can’t let it keep you down.