My wife and I were sitting in a basketball game Friday night, when we received a phone call from here sister.
"Just thought I'd tell you I'm on my way."
"On your way where?"
"To the funeral."
It turned out that her dad's cousin, who they have always called 'Uncle Scott', had passed away a few days previously. We came home, packed a quick bag, and drove to the funeral, arriving at 2:20 in the morning. He was 88 years old, and was preceded two years ago by his wife. They raised 8 children, and had numerous grandchildren, and great grandchildren. The greats all sang a song at the close of the funeral, and there were close to thirty of them. The immediate family alone filled the main chapel area of the church, and the overflow area out inot the cultural hall were also filled. He served a mission for his church (companion to Elder Marion Hanks), served in the navy, and was friend to everyone he met.
He had a way of greeting you, as if he already knew you, and a handshake that could crush rock to gravel. :o) The funeral celebrated his life, with little sadness--just joy in the knowledge he was with his wife, and had lived a full, good life. He will be missed, but not forgotten.
I only hope the same will be said of me. Take care. Stick.