I went to a very beautiful funeral last week. It was the kind of funeral that was a celebration of a life well lived, someone beloved and older. I didn’t even really know the man whose funeral I was attending, but I knew a portion of his legacy very well. He was the father of some dear friends, our old pastor and his sister my walking buddy. Both of them are skilled story and truth tellers, so to hear them talk about their dad was such a gift. Our one friend talked about how his dad was never a great student but was always enrolled in some continuing education class his entire life because he loved to learn. How he ended up with a doctorate, but was often mistaken for being homeless because he fell asleep odd places and usually had newspapers surrounding him. His sister talked about how he used to pick up her kids from school and the kids would give him a hard time for talking to everyone. They chided him, “we don’t do that in the city!”. They also told stories of love and support and kindness, but the quirks of personhood are the parts I wanted to share. It was an honest account of a deeply loved imperfect beautiful human. It was the best kind of funeral. I know they are mourning, and I also know that they are comforted by the memories and legacy of their dad. It really was a beautiful funeral.