My first memory comes from when I was 3-4 years old. I spotted a dead honey bee on the lawn in our back yard. I was suddenly overcome with sadness.
So, I picked up the honey bee and walked over to the dirt garden. I knelt down and dug a grave with my hands. I gently placed the bee’s body in the grave, and then I softly covered it with dirt.
I made a cross out of popsicle sticks to mark the gravesite and then said a prayer. (I don’t remember what I said.)
But after giving the bee a proper funeral, I suddenly felt better. I was relieved. All was well.
I have attended lots of funerals throughout my 70 years. Reuniting with family and friends, and pondering eternity, these funerals have always made me feel better. “All is well.”
The London Edition 