Five years ago today, my siblings and I, along with our children carried my father's mortal remains to a crematorium.

The skies wept openly along with us as we carried him down the front stairs of his beloved house. The aroma of the last grapes that he always left unpicked by the door kissed him as he descended. I felt the need to grab some and place them with him. Nothing else made sense.

We made a short stop at the funeral home to place him into a coffin. A simple box as he had wished. We gathered around him and gave him our last farewells. My husband sang a hunting Ukranian melody that is part of their funeral ritual. I had to go and hold up my brother with the help of the funeral director. T's heart is as gentle as they come....

We headed for the crematorium. My father's remains were lovingly taken out of the hearse and placed into the opening. When we were emotionally ready, my sister, brother and I pressed the button to start the cremation process. When we were able to comfort each other and the children to the point that they could move on to their cars, my brother and I stood guard at the door of the crematorium.

The heavens cried with us during the four hour process.

Two cemetery workers came. They gave us my father's ashes. My brother and I held them closely to our hearts in a hug.

He got behind the wheel. The tears were still streaming and now he could not blame the rain. I held my father's ashes in my arms. They were still warm when I handed them over to my mother who was inconsolable.

No one, other than his family got to touch my father after he died. He was not out of our sight for a moment. I feel so honored to have had the privilege to fulfill his wishes. And so grateful that the "officials" understood and allowed us to bend a few rules.