So we had a little family funeral yesterday and laid my mum's ashes to rest. I don't really want to say much about this day, there are many things that are better left unsaid.
But still a few things.
I found it really heartwarming how my mum's eldest brother conducted the short ceremony at his place (which used to be my grandparents house and their childhood home). He looked back on the day he was a little boy and was sitting on the stairs of their home and was waiting for his parents to come home from the hospital with his little newborn sister. He was the first one to greet my mum when she arrived home. And now he was the last one to send her to her resting place, so it was him - not my dad nor us, children - who took my mum's ashes and carried them out of the house. I found it terribly beautiful. I still tear up when I think of it.
And after everything was done and she was laid to rest we came back home and had almost a normal family gathering with all the familiar elements - with mountains of delicious food and with a classical concert in our living room (even I took my violin and played a piece), with discussions about theology and foreign politics and with my dad ending the day, playing the piano. Everything would have been so so nice, only my mum was missing and the Estonian flag on the front lawn which is always brought out for our big family reunions was at half-mast with a black ribbon tied to it...
I'm trying to convince Jesus to come back. Like, now.