A tale of two fathers

The recent loss of my father brought back memories of my mother's death. After the initial shock, I managed to hold myself together for the funeral service. There was too much to do, there were too many people to greet. She was first of all a homemaker, whatever else she did, but she touched many lives and more than 100 people turned out to honor her memory. Finally we saw the last of the guests off. My husband had taken my children home, my sister's ex had carted off the little ones. And it was my dad, my sister, me and a funeral home guy who wanted to close up. I remember my father, who had just lost his companion of 45 years, steering me and my sister out of the viewing room. "Let's go girls," he said gruffly. "I don't want you here when they close the casket."
I have never forgotten that moment. In his own grief, he cared more about us and seeing our beloved mother for the last time. I have had many occasions to reflect on this in later years, and with his own passing it has become fresh again.
My father's concern for us was a real-time example of our Heavenly Father's concern and caring. Yes, He loves us that much.