Posted February 16, 2018 09:30:14 A few days ago, I posted an article on the Facebook page for my family’s local funeral home.
It was an obituary for my father-in-law, the only son of my father’s family.
It included this poignant and poignant line from my father, the great-great-grandson of my late father: “If I had my time again, I would be more than happy to tell you what happened to my father.”
My mother, who was born in 1929, and my sister, who grew up in the 1920s, have also passed away, but the last few years have been extremely difficult.
The most recent funeral was a funeral for my sister.
The first two weeks were tough, but I managed to get through it and get some much needed sleep.
After the funeral, my sister came to visit me in the hospital, and I was surprised to find that she had some kind of tumor that was growing.
I didn’t know how to handle it.
I don’t think she realized that it was going to get worse, and that it would be a lot worse.
It had to be treated.
I decided to try and talk to my family members about what had happened, to get some support and to help them through it.
In the last couple of weeks, my mother had a stroke.
She died a few days later.
I felt a little bad for her and she was so young, so naive.
She didn’t understand that she was going through something that she knew nothing about, that she would probably die a few years from now.
So, I tried to tell my family about my father and my father.
I got a lot of support from them, but even though they were so upset with me, I still managed to give them some encouragement and support.
During the week, I went to the hospital to get treatment for my cancer.
I had a blood test to see if my cancer had spread, and it showed that it did.
But the tests that I had given my mother before she passed away had already turned negative, so I was not in a position to have any hope.
I decided to go to my brother’s funeral.
I met him in the parking lot, and he looked at me with such respect that I was completely stunned.
He said, “You are the only person who has ever been able to understand my grief, and your love for your family.
I am so proud of you.”
I had told him how much I was thinking about him and how I had been fighting my cancer all these years.
I was devastated.
I tried so hard to tell him what had really happened to me.
But he just didn’t get it.
He didn’t want to talk about it, and the funeral had to take place on a Friday.
Then I went back to my sister’s funeral, where my mother was buried.
My sister told me to go in with her, and she took me there.
The only person that she did not want to see at the funeral was me.
I started crying.
I cried because she was my mother, and her funeral was so special to me, because it was a beautiful, moving funeral.
It wasn’t just about my family, but about all of my family.
As I started to cry, I realized that the funeral wasn’t a funeral.
There was a very different ceremony than what I had seen at my father in-law’s funeral in the past.
The family, including my father himself, had to wear white, and a white coffin was placed in front of them.
My father-and-son-in‑law were sitting in the front row, and they wore white robes.
It felt like a ceremony.
The only person in the audience was me, who had lost my mother.
I told my father that I wanted to go there, and then I was escorted into the coffin.
I looked at him and said, “Dad, I love you so much.
I love this place.
I loved my mother so much.”
Then, I noticed my father sitting there with my mother in the back row.
He had a big smile on his face, but he didn’t have a smile on any of his face.
I realized he had lost his entire family, and his son and daughter were sitting right behind him.
I thought, I don�t want to cry.
Then my father started crying, and said to me “You don’t have to cry anymore, because I’m here.
My wife and I are here, and we are going to celebrate our father’s birthday.”
He said, and in a whisper, “I have to tell ya, there’s one more thing I have to say to you.”
And he said, you know what?
I love all of you, and you’re all going to love me too. And he was