Rest In Peace

This morning I am going to the funeral of my daughter in law's grandfather. Everyone knew him as Nonno. I had seen him a few times but we never spoke, as he only spoke Italian. Whenever I saw him it was at a celebration. Weddings, birthdays and parties. Last night at his wake, I looked around the packed room and saw how many people's lives he had touched. His family adored him. He was very kind and always looked out for the little ones. He took great pride in his family and home. He took the traditions of Italy into his backyard and planted trees, vegetables and herbs. His family never needed to buy produce as he and his wife grew and canned it. Sunday dinners were a tradition with everything from homemade sauces, bread, sausages and even wine. My son always looks forward to the Sunday feast. It will never be the same. According to the family, Nonno loved his wife's homemade bread as much as he hated the squirrels in his garden. The day after he died, they saw a squirrel in the garden eating a piece of bread. Later that day, a small piece of bread was on the hood of his granddaughter's car. They feel that this was a sign that he is resting in peace.