A Funeral

We went up to London yesterday - hobbled up on a walking stick in my case - for Uncle Paul's funeral.  It was at the Armenian Church in South Kensington that was built by Nubar Gulbenkian as a sort of private chapel (I think), and later gifted by him to the Armenian community in London.

It was a perfect Spring day.   A tender blue sky, a few fluffy white clouds, blossom everywhere.   We met up with Pen outside in the square.  Nute could not rearrange her work commitments, but her flowers had arrived, along with ours, so all the family had flowers by the coffin and at the service.

I have never been to an Orthodox Service before - and had to be careful as at all non JW funerals not to join in with the service in any way.   The singing was lovely and I think it was all what Uncle Paul would have wanted.  Aunt Jo's brother had arranged for a small reception afterwards at a hotel only just a short hobble away, so that was good.

We sat with a friend of Jo and Paul's - a lovely Swedish lady called Anita - and had an interesting talk. And we swapped memories of Uncle Paul - how hospitable he was, how interested and interesting, - and also what a great cook.  His curries were wonderful.  But he was born in Calcutta, which I didn't know until Jeremy spoke at the funeral.  His parents managed to escape from the Armenian genocide and settled there, where he was born.

I hope Paul and his parents (and all those who did not escape) have a wonderful awakening ahead of them, when the time  comes, and that, in the meantime, they sleep safe in 'the everlasting arms' - held safe in the memory of Jehovah, the God of Abraham, who numbers every hair of our head.

So I hope very much we will all meet up again in the restored earthly Paradise.  With no more funerals, as 'death will be no more'.