I rose and dressed in black. The night before was reminiscent of a scene from Wuthering Heights with the winds battering the land. We had all been awake most of the night anyway. There was an uneasy silence in our family home. An air of nervous anticipation unsure of the appropriate etiquette. Not wishing to put a foot wrong. Before long you arrived outside the front door. Those who brought you to us, stood with such grace, respectful to your passing and the family you left behind. They showed us to our carriage and we set off following you on your final journey. We passed the shop you had been so proud to take on and make your own. When we arrived to the venue many people greeted us. All waiting to wave you one last goodbye. The place was carefully decorated and Vivaldi walked us in. "Spring" possibly your most favourite time of year. We listened to the spoken words, the heart breaking poem written by your youngest girl. The potted history of your life was told. We smiled at the various jokes and funny stories and memories you left behind. We listened to the music carefully selected and we took a moment to remember. We followed you to your final resting place nestled amongst the cherry blossom trees. High up on the hill, looking across the stream. The family home in the distance above the weeping willows. Memories flooded through our minds as we scattered yellow flowers on your final bed. In my arms I held my nephew, to my side my sisters stood near by my cousins and on to many friends who knew you. Then we turned and walked away returning to our home. Here we busied ourselves with entertaining. When the day was done it was just me the girls and mum. We talked to the wee small hours jumping through memories. It was a long day, it was a difficult day. Parts of the day are lost in hazy emotion that I can't quite recall. As I climbed into bed that night I felt we did it right. We sent you on your way to wherever you now roam.