We went to a funeral of an old friend today. I think the obituary was the nicest I have ever heard in my life. The funeral was nice too, if I may say so. There were thoughtful hymns sung with old fashioned theology that I haven’t thought of for years. I’m not sure I understood some of it.
There were many people to see from what seems like another time I lived. Yes, it was nice. And comforting. I think I’m growing up. Because instead of mourning the lack of time for catching up with Jennifer and Evie and so many others, it was just nice to hug them and see that they are okay, too. Grey hair and their beautiful, mature faces…I just wanted to look and look at them. I came away enriched and comforted. That says it the best I know how to say it.
There is no way possible to show you the tapestry of the threads and connections involved when relatives and friends from our old home community converge in one place to lay to rest one of our own. You don’t forget who is who because we carry the resemblances of our family. So, Shirley’s hands are gnarled exactly as her grandmother’s hands were. When I shook hers, I carefully didn’t squeeze, just as I was careful with her grandmother’s so many years ago. Thankfully, she says, her hands don’t hurt.
Always at these gatherings at least one person tells me that they read this blog. Today Julia said she enjoys the thoughts I put out here. She said I am brave. I really am such a chicken, you know. Like any other mortal, I need these encouragements sometimes. To keep me on track. It makes such a difference. So thanks Julia. I’m sorry for scolding you for not commenting here. Telling me in person is even nicer, really.
Daylight lasts just enough longer now that we can sometimes go walking after supper. The snow banks haven’t had a thaw all winter so they’re quite high. But it’s coming. “The rivers always go out by the nineteenth of March”, says Uncle Amos.