you, too, Dorothy, RIP

Two funerals in two days--unusual since I left St. John's (I once remember counting and finding I had done over 600 funerals there!).

Ann I knew well. Dorothy, I had never met.

Ann was 65 and Dorothy 89.

And after I heard one of Dorothy's daughters and three grown grand-children speak, I wished I had known her.

She and some relatives had been country and gospel singers back in the day and had a radio show on a local station. And she was a farmer--and a good one. And a lovely, gentle, humorous woman from all I heard of her today. And someone who, with help, had stayed in her home until the end.

Her granddaughter played the guitar for the hymns, which had been reproduced in Dorothy's handwritten words!

Lovely and loving people.

Sometimes, one of the things we can take from a funeral is that life is still and over for one we love. No more pain.

That's obviously not enough to make up for their loss in your life--but it is something.