Through earthquake, wind and fire.

A while ago Minnie asked me why it always rains at funerals - we were watching a Hollywood film at the time – and I explained that reality needn’t be like that; this was a few years before her Granddad’s funeral, a day when the weather had remained steadfastly clement.

At one point on Tuesday saying farewell to her Grandmother, I whispered in her ear – “look, it’s not raining” - the sun was shining, the sky was blue and full of bird song, none of us had umbrellas and some of us were even in shirt sleeves.

However, we made up for it with our tears.

Afterwards we walked back through the woods bursting with bluebells and sat in the garden talking, eating, drinking and laughing – with just the occasional tear.

And slowly each person who came stood; said farewell again, received and gave a final hug, until the dusk settled on the family sitting in a circle until it was too cold and we too said goodbye.

Those hugs were the longest.

Sometimes the layers of grief that everyone carries overwhelms me, sometimes love and joy are stronger.

Sometimes life seems so rich, sometimes so cruel, sometimes so beautiful and sometimes so sad.

I become desperately aware now of my own vulnerability within the generation of things, I am saddened when my children say – we have no grandparents anymore - I am distraught when Krissie says – I won't be able to see her anymore.

I am honoured to be part of this family.

I resolve to try to be more of a rock.

A new sadness becomes part of me.

Today it is still raw.