It was funny and sad and full of tradition. It was funny to see my cousin W. tear her husband away from the youngest daughter and go to the oldest to start condoling. It was funny to hear a telephone go off while we were waiting for the non-family to leave the grave. It was sad to hear all those stories and memories about my grandmother. It was strange to see a grave marked with my father's name, while he is still very alive.
The songs were well chosen by my grandfather and grandmother (when they were still alive and well). The talk the minister gave was good and I was very happy to learn that he had known my grandmother in person. He wore a proper shirt and tie for the occasion because "she had phoned me one day to say how pleased she was that he was wearing a proper shirt and tie in church". She was one for the good and proper.
That was also the reason that we were all (more or less anyway) in black, dark grey and dark blue. As it traditionally should be. Another tradition was walking around the church. In the olden days it used to be three times (to ward off evil spirits), nowadays it's only once. Her two sons (my father and uncle), my brother and three cousins that were all named after her husband carried and lowered her into her last resting place.
My whole family was there (bar a few great grandchildren) and even though it was great to see them all, we would all have loved to see each other under different circumstances. I hope we will continue seeing each other and meeting up, now our last common ancestor has passed away.