It's been raining for a couple of days, and is supposed to keep on through tomorrow. Fine with me. The gray and the rain and the thunder are glorious to me. I'll sort of be unhappy when the sun comes back.
Since it is Monday, here are Kathy's questions for this week:
1. Do you have a favorite funeral song?
Not really. Nope; I'm not coming up with anything.
2. Did you put anything in a loved one's casket?
I insisted that Daddy be buried in a pair of boots. The funeral director kept saying it would be a tight fit, but I wouldn't budge. They found a way.
3. Do you know of other funeral remembrances? (Sitting Shiva, etc.)
This isn't the same thing, exactly, but nobody in the South dies without having some family member(s) "sitting up with them" at the hospital, and no house goes without casseroles and Jell-O salads being delivered by friends.
The anniversary of Daddy's death is this week. I've been going through drawers and drawers of old photos lately, and found one that seems good to put here in light of that.
There's so much that I love about this. Daddy with his grandbabies, of course. Then there's Briton (named after Daddy) being sweet with Hannah. You can see both Daddy's rings, and his big Spence hands, including his right one, which ended a port wine birthmark that covered his whole arm and part of his chest. Also, there's the right index finger which a car fan blade sliced off. Briton and Hannah always liked that Granddad could only count to 9 1/2.