I woke up this morning looking like I'd gone rounds in the boxing ring.

My eyelids are impossibly swollen from 3 days of crying.

And I have no doubt I'm nowhere near done.

The service was ...

Christie and I were among the first to arrive, about 10 minutes before it was to start. We sat in the car and watched the rain, neither of us wanting to go inside, until it was time.

The room was full of chairs, of course, but there were posterboards spread around the front of the room with pictures of Frank throughout his life. Pictures from his childhood on up through Easter just a few weeks ago.

There were a lot of tears. A lot.

There was also a lot of laughter as more and more people arrived and started sharing stories.

Those that attended varied greatly - from long-time friends, to students of his, to people he'd never met in person but posted with online. I don't have a head count, of course, but the place was packed.

His mom and dad truly tried to make it a celebration of Frank's life instead of a mourning of his death.

The evening ended with them thanking everyone for coming and encouraging people to come to a microphone to share stories.

And they did. Story after story.

More laughter, more tears.

I didn't want to leave. This was very much a Frank type gathering and you could just feel him in the room with us.

I don't have an eloquent way of ending this (like I ever do, right? hah). I don't have any pearls of wisdom or nuggets of words to offer up.

All I know is that I've lost one of my best friends and I look forward to the day when I can think of him and simply smile without feeling the fresh pain of losing him.