I was 17 when my father died. It was only the second funeral I had ever attended.
Now, it seems like I've attended one a week for the past few weeks.
Last week, I attended a most awesome funeral. It was very sad - a police officer died (off duty, struck by a drunk driver) The representation at the funeral was just amazing. As a member of the press, I hung out with all of the press people and took lots of pictures.
There were three blocks of police and sheriff cars and motorcycles.
I am always amazed at all of the officers who come out to support each other -- car after car after car and all of those police motorcycles -- wow! To see that kind of procession is something else.
The policman was also a member of a motorcycle club, and of course, they all came out too.
The previous week, a dear man died. (my sister's grandfather in law) The man was a saint and we had the privilege of having him over several times, at Christmas and Thanksgiving.
I am not Catholic, but sitting there in that pew, with the choir singing -- I felt so much peace.
It was truly a beautiful service.
My parents were very strange when it came to other religions. Maybe that is why I am so open and respect the beliefs of all others -- I don't care what religion they are. I can still love them. When I was 13, a very dear friend died. He was not my boyfriend because I was not allowed to date, but I was so in love with him. I begged my parents to let me go to his funeral. But because he was Catholic, they said no. (I finally visited his grave two years ago for the first time)
Anyway - the service I attended was uplifting. I loved it.
Then this week, I attended the funeral of the father of a dear friend. I am sorry to say I did not really know the man, but wish I did. He was quite a person!
When we got home from the funeral, I found out my uncle is not doing well and he is asking to see my mother. I will be driving her tomorrow (Thursday) to see him in the Los Angeles area -- and I hope we make it in time.