I was ok, last night, during the visitation. That was easy, meeting people, talking to them, sharing stories of Danielle. That was a breeze. She always had a story to share...ok that's a lie, she always had SEVERAL stories to share.
Then came today. This morning was the funeral. I was bound and determined to celebrate my sisters life. I wore a white shirt with bright beautiful flowers in pink, purple, orange and yellow, with a purple (Danielle's favorite color) sweater over it. I am sure she loved it. I sat across the isle from my mom, because I knew I would sob, too, if I sat next to her.
I looked at the alter with her smiling face staring back at me, and realized I would not ever see it again, in person.
I heard the priest sing "Yellow Submarine" by the Beatles, and realized I would not ever hear it played 37 times in a row.
I heard them say that she was being welcomed into Heaven by Uncle Jim and Aunt Rita.
I realized that she really did die. That she took her last breath in front of me. That God now has her in His arms. That I won't have to tell my kids to settle down cause Aunt Dani is sleeping.
And then I cried.