The funeral

The church was pretty and cold. Pretty because of the definite byzantine influences in the mosaics and general lay out and iconography. Cold because of the frost and windy sleet outside. The old lady was given a grand and warm adieu. Beautiful classical music, 4 singers from the choir where the granddaughter sings and text more worldly than religious chosen by her caring daughter. The beauty of it all was moving.
Interestingly in the Dutch translation the word charity in the English version is 'love', so I am changing the official translation to show you how worldly love of an old, frail mother can be.

Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels,
and have no love,
I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.
And though I have the gift of prophecy,
and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge;
and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains,
and have no love, I am nothing.
And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor,
and though I give my body to be burned,
and have no love, it profiteth me nothing.
Love suffereth long, and is kind;
love envieth not;
love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up,
Doth not behave itself unseemly,
seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil;
Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth;
Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.
Love never ends.