Special thanks to mcj for all her help and guidance, and her polishing abilities.

The Lord is My Shepherd

I was still young when my mother died.

Most people assume I was old enough to remember her funeral, but the truth is I don't. Well, not much of it. Some child psychologist will probably say that it's some kind of coping mechanism for the trauma of her death and the way in which it affected my childhood.

Whatever.

But I do remember some things.

I remember the sting of the cold as we waited for the hearse ... the warmth of Virgil's hand as he slipped it into mine … struggling to believe that my Mom was really inside that box and the thud of that first fist-full of earth as it hit the shiny wood.

Today is different, but then, it's also the same in lots of ways.

The cold stung my cheeks as we waited outside for the hearse. Virgil's hand was on my back as we walked into the chapel together and now my eyes are fixated on the gloss of those exquisite brass handles, thoughts centred around the contents. Unfortunately, in my line of work, I've seen enough to have a good understanding of just what's inside there now. I guess that's the difference between the young boy who buried his mother and the man here today cremating his Grandmother.

It's a small gathering; much smaller than I'd first thought. But then in retrospect, I guess most of Grandma's friends have passed on already. I really hope that we haven't over-estimated the catering. I guess it doesn't matter. Grandma was always a good host. If nothing else, she'd want there to be plenty of food to go around.

The warmth of Virgil's hand is on my knee, radiating support. I turn to him and his sad eyes are telling me that it's time. I look to John, then Gordon and Alan, and I realise that they are waiting on me, too.

Looking at me with expectation.

Virgil squeezes my knee softly, comforting and grounding me at the same time. I clear my throat a little as I rise to my feet, acknowledging him as he stands to let me out into the aisle.

I step up to the podium to see the faces of my brothers and my father; faces ranging from solemn to tear-stained. Suddenly my throat is dry. I can't speak. My eyes burn.

My gaze catches my father's and he holds it. A gentle nod is the only outward indication of any communication, yet his eyes tell me so much.

Pride.

Solace.

Love.

I take a deep breath, and begin.

"The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want."

And you never did, did you Grandma? Right back in that dusty farmhouse in Kansas. But you know what? You were our shepherd. More than you ever realised. You guided us. In every possible sense of the word.

"He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters."

You sure had your work cut out leading us, huh Grandma? But you did it. Our moral compass. We didn't turn out so bad. You experienced so much loss with Grandpa and Mom, but you were never bitter. You just quietly devoted your life to guiding us though our lives instead.

"He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake."

That's probably why we do the job we do now. The path of righteousness you set us upon. All through our lives, teaching us what it was to act with integrity and honour.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; they rod and thy staff they comfort me."

I can believe that. You wouldn't be afraid of death, Grandma. I don't think I've ever seen you fear anything in your life. My eyes suddenly veer to Virgil's and I realise what you're trying to tell me. He's my comforter alright. You always knew that.

"Thou prepares a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over."

Suddenly, I'm reminded how kind you always were to others. There was always an empty seat at our table; always room for another to stay the night even in the early days when there wasn't all that much to go around.

"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever"

I sure hope so Grandma, because if all I've just thought about in the last minute is anything to go by, no-one I know deserves that more than you do.

Rest in peace now.