Yesterday my family and friends celebrated the life of my Aunt Liz. The service included an a cappella solo by Peder of The Rose. He sang it beautifully, and I was so proud of him. Bryan, Pat and Pudge's son, read a scripture, as did Jeff, Aunt Liz's oldest grandson - Wayne's firstborn. Following the mass, tributes were given by Mary Beth, my Uncle Vic's niece; Naomi, daughter of our family friend, Gemma (from Ireland), who referred to my Aunt Liz as Grandma Liz; Gemma, who shared some memories and then recited The Irish Blessing; and finally, my cousin, Pat. [Pat's tribute is on another page in this book.] I don't know how these women were able to do this, but somehow they had inner strength and were able to tell their personal feelings.
I was privileged to hold the beautiful wooden case that now houses Aunt Liz's ashes on the trip to the cemetery. It's a gorgeous box with her name engraved. She was buried next to my Uncle Vic, who died on his 82nd birthday in 2001.
A special family time was held at Aunt Liz's house following the burial. My sister Janet had downloaded hundreds of photos on her digital frame and we enjoyed watching the photos and recalling the events. It's true - my Aunt Liz was always smiling - enjoying life. She was passionate. She was kind. She was contented. She was independent. She was loving. She was hospitable. Money wasn't important to her - family and friends were. And I loved her with all my heart.