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My Poppop's funeral was wonderful not only for sharing grief at his death with family and friends and people I'd never met before, but also for sharing with each other how much we loved him--I never really knew how many people my grandfather blessed with his kindness. At the viewing and funeral many people shared how warm and generous he was to them--people he knew from church and from boyscouts and from his various workplaces and neighbors from his street. That day was a pretty persuasive argument for the beauty and joy of being committed to your place and to the people around you. My whole life growing up, I was convinced that Poppop loved his family more than anything in the world and that he basically only loved his family (also, he sort of loved his white Lincoln Towncar), but his funeral made me realize that he loved so many other people, too.

After the funeral, we went back to my grandmother's house to visit. I love that as part of the day, we also celebrated the birthday of my newly four-year-old cousin. Poppop would have wanted that--the family continues to gather and celebrate, even in the midst of our pain.

Mama Leopard gave the four-year-old cousin a picture book. I think he only liked one picture: this picture of a piranha. The kid loves fish. He's an avid talker and he primarily talks about fishin', cabbin' (crabbin'), and huntin'. He carried the book around, open to this page. He was shocked when his father told him that piranhas can eat people. He asked at least three times afterward, "Dad, can this fish eat people?!"

Below: My four-year-old cousin puts another gift, a piggy-bank baseball cap on his two-year-old brother.