Wow, that's a great story. My grandfather died May 18, 2003, and his funeral was a very small affair at a trailhead leading to his favorite lake trails. His ashes had been spread over that mountain range (The Enchantments in WA) a month before the service... out of the bomb bay of a B-17. He had been a B-17 pilot in WWII, and the crew of one of the last remaining ones flying volunteered to do the drop. (Grandpa had been told right before he died that this had been arranged, and he *howled* with laughter, thought it was perfect.)
It was weird... of the entire family, he was who I was closest to. And yet, during the service, I was struck by how little it was about him, but instead about consoling the living (ie, Grandma). I felt connected to him from the locale, and couldn't help but just smile throughout the service. A couple of family members commented that I didn't seem upset, and y'know, I wasn't. It was very strange.
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