Over a lush lawn of bright green spring grass, sits a half—filled crumbled paper lawn bag, propped up on the legs of the landscaper, likely the owner of the house. One hand has left the rake stand still, while the other hand holds his hat against his chest. It takes a second to register, until I realize he was paying his respects, as we in the funeral cavalcade drive by.
This is why I love this place so much. It’s not just the cars that are pulled off to the side of the road – but the people out working in their yards stop too.
Do I dare share more? That funerals are becoming beautiful to me? The way they draw everyone together to a safe place to cry, hug and not bore each other with stories. The place where everyone takes the time to really listen? The place where you actually do look at the vacation photos people are always trying to show you — and the likes are instantaneous and do not include a thumb, but rather a real genuine smile and a human touch?