Psalms 103, 15-16:
15 As for man, his days are like grass, he flourishes like a flower of the field;
16 the wind blows over it and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more.
I remember the passage above from my father's funeral-- it is beautiful.
A couple of days earlier, after the procession in hearse from hospital to chapel mortuary, we had a simple family cakes-and-coffee gathering at home.
My oldest nephew is 16, a handy boy-- so he is outside changing wheels on my Dad's car (now borrowed by my sister)-- taking off studded winter tires now the snow has gone.
His father comes out and says, "I remember last April, how Grandpa watched you do it, grumbling and suggesting different procedures..." Then he interrupts his own musings with, "Oh BTW, Jan, look out, watch that nut..."
Jan grins in a resigned way, and his Dad goes back in the house, soon to be replaced by his uncle, "Hi there, Jan...You know, a good trick when you change tires, one that I find useful is..."
I laugh, and Jan fumes quietly.
Task done at last, he looked at a big gouge in the lawn, left by his tractor when he cleared snow for Grandpa a few weeks before. The kid sighed, smiled and said to me, "Hmmm. At least this saves having a strip torn off me by Grandpa for the grass!"