My grandfather, or Papou as he is known in my family, always wanted a small funeral.
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Papou Dino used to roll his eyes at the grand - and sometimes gaudy - Greek Orthodox funerals with the over-the-top flower arrangements and priests taking advantage of a big crowd for a guilt trip to come to church more often.
He didn't want that. But he wouldn't have wanted the service we were forced to give him.
Born during WWII, Papou Dino lived through the Greek Civil War, the Cold War and military junta.
He died in his sleep at a nursing home on April 5 amid the global coronavirus pandemic.
Thankfully, we could be there during his final days, despite the nursing home being closed to visitors to stem the virus spread.
The Greek Orthodox funeral director warned us police were checking in on many of his services.
At the time I figured he was, as the Greeks say, adding a bit of 'salsa' to his story to make sure we complied with the strict social distancing measures put in place by the government, of 10 people at funerals.
We made the painful calls to relatives to let them know who could attend and who couldn't.
Our small, sad congregation arrived at the grand church on Saturday, some clad in gloves and masks, and took our seats at individual pews.
Even those of us from the same household had to sit apart. I've never felt more alone.
With about 15 minutes left in the funeral, two uniformed police officers carrying weapons entered the church and began a head count.
They started speaking to church staff while the funeral director cut the service short, quickly calling for the coffin to be taken out.
"Keep apart," he kept saying in both Greek and English to all of us. The priest was gone.
As my dad, brother and two uncles carried Papou out of the church, the officers continued to question the church staff.
I don't know what I expected. I thought they'd stop, maybe bow their heads, or give us a knowing nod, a 'sorry, we don't want to be here either' face.
Instead, we were forced to feel in the wrong when we were doing everything right.
Everyone rushed to their cars, terrified of a fine. Some couldn't follow the hearse as we made our way to the cemetery.
It felt ironic - the funeral of a man who escaped a military junta cut short by armed police.
He worked hard, played fair, loved deeply and was incredibly kind to all people.
Papou was a true gentleman who deserved better.
Victoria Police would not comment about the funeral.
On Tuesday, Deputy Commissioner Shane Patton told reporters he expects police "to be respectful and mindful of circumstances they are called to".
Australian Associated Press
