it was a wonderful day. sunny.. a beautiful, peaceful, small cementary on the countryside, blossoming in all colours. a small wooden belltower. the grave of her second husband (of three married.. the fourth died on cancer before they could), already there since 46 years.. he died young, a few days before he wanted to sign the adoption of my father.. and i wouldn't exist, if this all would have happened.. or not happened.. life.. it is.
I've been struck by the appearance of the coffin-bearers. the times i've been on a funeral.. it was a cremation. and i've always been for that. the elements for me? sure. but it all made sense suddenly.. carrying the body to the grave.. you need several men to do so. it's physical. the all-black, like from middleage..it got to me. the absence of colours. the translation of a moment. as it's a moment hard to grab, and you need some help. put some silence in. respect.
the faces of these men, weather-beaten.. you only get to see those faces in movies normally. but this was real.
it wasn't a sad funeral though. the only sad thing was, that one didn't let my grandmother die already four years ago, how she wanted.

my last grandparent.

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a, ceremony, the sun, and peace.

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