As I mentioned the other day, my last remaining grandfather passed away. He's at peace with God, his wife and one of he daughters, who both proceeded him to their rewards. We buried Poppo in accordance with his faith and his last wishes.
The day was a long one, with both good and bad points. It was nice to see all of the family again. The circumstances could sure have been better though.
The most humorous part of the story involves me arriving at the church for the funeral yesterday morning. I'm dressed in head to foot in black, with the exception of a tie, colored gray and silver. I followed my mother into the church while dad parked the car.
As I walk in the door, an older man stops me and says, "Are you a pallbearer?".
"No" says I.
"Yes," says mother.
Huh. News to me. I hadn't heard a thing of it up until that very moment. Oh well, live learn and overcome I suppose.
To make it funnier, we complete the service in the church and follow the coffin out to the foyer/reception area of the church. The family was seated as a whole, there was no special seating for the pallbearers, so we worked out with our family.
The family is all gathered around the perimeter of the room when they call the pallbearers forward. We escort the coffin outside to the hearse and proceed to lift it. At this point, I'm on the right side of the hearse, right side of coffin, middle position. We lift, and as we do so, I turn my head to speak to my brother, only to find out he is missing. Poor boy forgot we had to escort the coffin, and had to use the restroom.
Thank you all for reading, I know I've been off topic recently, but I'm planning on doing a post this week about a trip to the gunshop, which should be fun (new toys maybe). I'll also share a story of riding MARTA in Atlanta.