The thing about the service at the crematorium
was that I couldn't hear the soft voices
of her white haired brother
her beautiful granddaughter
her friend
reading their tributes
to her
and her musical life.
So it was a good thing when the father of the
two little girl twins
who had been making lots of bored children
noise
picked them up
one in each arm
and whisked them down the isle
and outside,
because when her son-in-law
from the island of Tonga
stood in front of her coffin
painted with all the wild flowers she loved
bent his head
struck his chest
and roared his great Hukka farewell to her,
they would have been frightened
those little girls.
But the rest of us were silent and in awe
because
when the honour in his voice,
his love for her
filled the building
to the rafters
I knew then how loved she was.
And how much she loved us.
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