For the next few days, I will be posting 10 most popular Flathead Mama posts of the year. I would like to invite you to take this chance to catch up on a good buzz-worthy post that you may missed. Please also drop a comment on the original post. I'd love to continue the conversation. If you found a post particularly useful to you, I'd love your help to get the word out about Flathead Mama: copy and paste the link and post to your Facebook page, Twitter about it, or post to a Pinterest profile.
Thanks and enjoy!
I know at least one person who would be really excited about the top post of the year...my Dad. He died in February 24, 2009 and on the first anniversary of his death last year, I posted the text of my eulogy for him at his memorial service. This turned out to be the top post of the year!
My Dad would have been very impressed about this. People all of the world who we didn't even know were reading his story. Dad loved to talk and he loved attention (it's true). He also loved Jesus and would have enjoyed the chance to share his story with lots of people.
People found my blog many, many times this year by searching for "first anniversary of father's death." It was by far the most common search item leading people to Flathead Mama. This told me something important. It told me that all of us feel a little lost on the anniversary of our loved one's death, especially the first anniversary. There is no societal ritual for us to engage in. There's no script for our remembrance. By the time the first year has rolled around, we are rather alone in our grief. People have begun to move on with their lives, and they have begun to assume that we have moved on too. But the truth is that the grieving process is on-going. It never really stops. It just becomes more internal, more settled deep down inside.
The people who found my blog this year may not have left a comment or said hello, but I hope that they found some comfort in my post about Dad. I hope that they felt that we are all in this together, this journey of grieving. I hope they felt a little less alone.