Just got back from Pop's viewing a little while ago.
There wasn't a lot of people there, a few relatives, my in-laws, a friend of me and Pop's from the ammo plant and Greg the Whiney L'il Bitch from my job. Luckily they were all motherfuckers that I had already seen so I didn't get hugged on too much.
Pops looked pretty good for being dead. Dress blues, medals and awards, a few pictures of family tucked into a pocket, his pipe in his hand, a 5.56 round over his heart and a fucking III patch on the pillow next to his head. He was in a plain wooden casket like he requested with a US Army seal on the inside of the lid, flag draped over the bottom.
Now I was with him when he died, hell, I was holding his hand and had my other hand on his chest when he expired, but to see him in his coffin..... fuck, man. So final, it wasn't a bad fucking dream, it's a done deal.
So the funeral's tomorrow at 10, then a Patriot motorcycle club will escort him to Lakewood for his Military Honors.
He'll be dead and buried and then the hard part starts.