Loved ones are always there

THE church at Highcliffe was packed last Monday as we said our goodbyes to our Dad.

Glenn Miller played as an unprecedented number of mourners crammed inside the church sharing the order of service books.

We hadn't printed enough.

The winds blew as Dad left the church, the birds sang and the sun shone.

I have never been to a burial before. We shed our tears and scattered dust and petals on his coffin, in the woodland part of the old cemetery where he used to play as a child.

Wreaths and flowers lay at the foot of the tree close to his grave.

Yet I don't believe he is really there, not really. He is everywhere and always in our hearts.

And as much as right now I would love the world to stop, it doesn't.

All we can really do is tell the people we care about just how much we love them and show them.

None of us know how much time we have.

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