It is very sad sometimes how we measure the importance of someones life.  For example , their successes or achievements, their family or the numbers at their funeral.  It’s very sad because all these miss out on the real value or importance of a person.  That real value of course comes not from our observations but from the only one who has the right to value us.  To God, E was someone of infinite value, someone important enough to allow his son to die for. 

I struggled to find a neighbour that could tell me anything about her for her funeral today but was glad that a few neighbours had turned up so I wasn’t alone.  The funeral was simple, we didn’t say much about E but I felt I was treading on holy ground. 

For some reason the funeral directors had booked an organist even though I had said that we wouldn’t be singing.  It wasn’t the usual duty organist at the crem.  As we left he played an amazing piece of Buxtehude.  I have never heard the crem organ sound so good.  He played the piece right to the end to an empty chapel and I was able to slip back in having said goodbye to the neighbours in order to give him a round of applause. 

E’s piano stool was full of classical manuscripts and old choral festival songbooks.  I guess she would have approved.

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