My grandpa recently passed away, so my family and I drove to British Columbia in Canada for the funeral service. I managed to take a few Instagram pictures but since I didn't have cell service most of the time, I didn't get to post as many as I wanted. The funeral service was held on the last day we were there. We had to head home literally right after it was over, but it was a great service. My grandma spoke for part of it and I can't emphasize enough how blown away I am whenever she speaks in front of a crowd. She is seriously the sweetest and funniest lady ever, and each time I've heard her tell stories or speak at an event, I can't wait for the day she marries Sam and I, and gets to perform our ceremony.
At the service, she talked about Grandpa's life and his death. From his childhood, up to the last few years of his life. She told everyone that he "lived a good life, and died a good death." Free of any pain, with no regrets in all of his 80+ years of life. She spoke about how he built bikes for his grandkids and how he taught us how to play SkipBo, our favorite card game. At the beginning of the service, I'm thinking, "ok. I don't feel like I'm going to cry. So far, so good." By the end, I'm just a hot mess of tears. I've only attended two funerals, but I've come to find I'm "the cryer." The weight of the memories I had with that person and every thing I loved about them hit me like a ton of bricks, and I can't contain it.
I came across a poem sometime ago by Mary Elizabeth, it goes..
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush.
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
Listening to The Decemberists on the way there.
Seattle! Rainy traffic and all. Oh Seattle, you so predictable ;)
Snowy mountains on the way to Merritt. So so beautiful to see! But, of course, no snow when we actually get to Grandma's.
Even though I'm four months shy of turning 21, Canada's drinking age is 19. My younger brother and I had fun ordering some dranks with dinner for the first time.
drink #1: twisted rocket. So slushified. so good.
drink #2: Appleburg martini. YUM.
drink #3: When we got back, my brother and sister and I had rather pimp-sized glasses of a fancy shmancy pear white wine.
We stayed up until 2am, making Vines and other equally ridiculous and hilarious-to-us videos. I love these weirdos.
Going home! That teeny-tiny town enclosed by mountains and hills? That's Merritt, with grand total population of 7,000. Sam says Merritt sounds like the setting from the movie, "the hills have eyes..."