Ten-Finger Exercises

One bright note

For a funeral, today's was beautifully done. The baby, less than a year, died of a very rare cancer of the brain. His father was a smoke jumper, and the fire department from two towns was there en mass. They stood in solemn rows on each side of the arc of steps into the church, and the service was begun by the color guard presenting the flags.

The rule in the baby's home was to surround him with love and happiness, and the parents and family and all who visited were able to follow through. The presence of an older sister, not quite three years old, was a cheerful note always.

The tiny coffin the size of a toy chest was loaded onto the back of a fire engine, and the family rode in the front seat. At the graveside service that followed, flowers were handed out to everyone to deck the casket with.

The family had sunflowers, and as the little girl waited for whatever would happen next, she played with her flowers. Holding hers up to her mother's, face to face as it were, she said, "What is your name?" We couldn't hear all the dialogue, but it was clear that she was pretending that they were little girls. As people filed past with condolences, she picked up on the activity and began to instruct all comers that it was time for hugs.