In June my grandma Leah Finch passed away at the age of 95. Grandma is a strong woman whose father died when she was 3, lived through the depression, moved all over the country, and who was taking classes and reading "good" books in her 90s. (No fiction and fluff for grandma, she read biographies and histories and kept a list of all she read.)
All of the Finch family gathered for the funeral and it was wonderful to be with cousins I hadn't seen for 10 years. And Henry loved playing with the other great and great-great grandchildren. That was wonderful. And I love how because of the gospel funerals aren't tragic. I love the words of comfort and hope and the knowledge that I'll see grandma and grandpa again. Wahoo!Running around the church with the great and great great grandchildren before the funeral. Henry's in blue.
At the cemetery Henry stopped at the tombstone and read "H-E-N-R-Y That's me!" And we got to tell him about Grandpa Henry and he thought that was cool. I think it was the first time he kind of understood who he was named after.
Me and my beautiful mother.