Five years ago today I was standing in the cemetery. We had received a call from the sherriff in North Dakota a week prior--the day I celebrated my 17th birthday--saying someone flying over the lake in an airplane had seen my dad's body. It's amazing how well I can remember something that happened five years ago. I know exactly what I was wearing: black dress pants, a black shirt with white swirls, and black strappy dress shoes that hurt my feet, which I still own. I remember I had gone to school that morning, like it was just another day. Only six months after my dad's death and already life had become "normal" again. My brother, sister, and I left school around noon for the burial. It was a closed casket, for obvious reasons. There was a little tent and some chairs around the gravesite, and it was warm and sunny. My aunt read a poem, Pastor spoke some words of reassurace. We didn't have a gravestone yet because the people at the company in India were on strike. There weren't very many people there; they had already paid their respects six months earlier at the memorial service. We called it that because we didn't have his body, so it wasn't really a funeral.
In stark contrast to the memorial service, I remember few tears on the day of the burial. We had already accepted what had happened. At the church after the internment we had a light lunch and sat around talking. I remember laughing with my family as we planned our first Eveland Family vacation to Hawaii--all 17 of us. It's amazing how life changes in 5 years. Every year I remember this day. Every year I am astonished by the things that have taken place, yet excited to see what the next year will bring.