It is bitterly cold outside. The wind is rushing by at about 30mph sustained, and the temperature is firmly in the 20's. Snow is falling sideways in the stiff breeze. It is a fitting day to bury a friend. Not my friend, of course, but a friend to my parents, and to the hundred or so mourners who braved the cold to pay their last respects.

Sam was 96, and had lived a full life. His wife of over 65 years had passed a little more than two years ago, and it was time for them to be together again. Sam's two children were there (a son and daughter), and they spoke fondly of their childhood memories, and of the many good years they had enjoyed with their father. His son broke down during the eulogy; his daughter, always the rock of Gibraltar, stood up well under the pressure. But, it was clear that they loved their father, and I am certainly glad I took the time to actually visit the cemetery and return with the mourning party for the wake.

I hadn't intended to do so. I had planned to attend the prayer vigil at the chapel, then head home to my wife. But poor timing on my part caused me to leave too late. Although I got to the chapel before the beginning of the memorial service, I was too late to join the line of well-wishers visiting the family in the "grieving room". Had I been on time to pay my respects, I would not have felt obligated to go to the cemetery.

Leaving the chapel and entering my car, I realized I didn't have enough fuel to get me to the cemetery, and back to a gas station. For a moment, I thought about not going to the cemetery. Then, I decided to find a nearby station and hopefully fill up quickly enough to rejoin the funeral procession. Because I had arrived so late, my car was the last in my particular lane of the parking lot, and I was able to back out of the procession line and head off for a gas station. I didn't stop there long - just long enough to get about a 1/4 tank - and then went racing back to see if I could catch up with the funeral procession. Luckily, the last car of the procession had only travelled about three blocks from the chapel, and some deft driving allowed me to pass the three cars separating me from the procession and join the back of the line. I think I was about to become the target of road rage - until the drivers behind me saw me add the funeral procession flag to the roof of my car.

The burial service was short (due to the cold), but no less emotional than the prayer vigil had been. Each of the mourners who had chosen to go to the cemetery (and I was surprised just how many did go) was invited to participate by throwing a couple of shovels-full of earth onto the casket. After everyone had had their turn, we got into our cars and headed to the wake.

There was lots of good food at the wake, but I restrained myself and managed to not make myself look like a pig. There were lots of relatives there, and I took time to meet with each of them. Many, I hadn't seen in quite some time, and in the case of the younger couples, they had children I had never met. I had expected people to be crying, or at least emotional, but in the case of a dying elderly man, whose disease had been taking it's toll for some time, this death did not come as a surprise. While there was sadness evident, it was not overwhelming. Sam was a gentle man, a simple man, and he would probably have been embarassed by all the fuss being made in his honour. I had last seen him (ironically) at the wake for another family member. He will be missed.