and the beat goes on

on Tuesday we had the funeral. It was [as far as funerals go], really nice. A Humanist service, very calm, very dignified and peaceful. A tribute to Dad's life rather than a bewailing of his death. It seemed very personal. Mum was amazing - I don't know how she did it. I just kept wondering how I would be if it were the FH. And it made [and makes] me feel cold and sick inside. I was so glad he was there with me.

Ian, Dad's brother, spoke for us all and made a wonderful job of it. He chose the music [jazz - Dad's favourite] - and at the end of his words, which were lovely, he read this passage by Mary Frye:

"Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there, I do not sleep
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die."

Dad will always be 'the diamond glints on snow' - it's the beastly snow that killed him.

The final track Ian chose was Ella Fitzgerald's "Goodnight, My Love". Fitting. And Mum, my brothers, the family and I - we all said goodbye.

 

Then it seems, life must go on - and it's hard. Because it does. One feels as if one should be able to inform everyone that one is NOT in 'the mood'. For anything really. Where's a space to gather oneself? There isn't one. Christmas? Er - no. Not this year. Take that tree and stick it [in a bonfire]. Better yet, leave it in the ground to grow instead of chopping it down and killing it to suffer your ghastly attempts at stylish decoration…fffft.

I think the idea of a mourning band is a good one - perhaps wearing one would stop people from constantly expecting one to be jolly all the bloody time. People are impatient for one to 'get back to normal'. Even people who know what's happened ask "what's wrong with you?" - and to the people who don't know, it's so tempting to say…but would be cruel, as they don't REALLY expect you to tell them something awful has happened. Or want you to. I never understand why they actually bother to ask. As you'll notice - I'm a tad peeved right now. The last 3 years have all been a bit much - and this seemed the final straw.

But of course, we trundle on. We smile and laugh and hold conversations that seem utterly meaningless [and quite often are]…and we cry when no-one can see us.