Funeral

Today we saw the funeral of my Great Uncle, who died aged 85. It was a touching service, and my Grandpa said some lovely words about his life, and his person.

The service was held in the church, with family at the front, and friends closer to the back. The church congregation had all come, and there were a good amount of pews filled. The service was all as my Great Uncle had written out in his will 8 years ago, and it felt good to know that it was as he had wished, with the exception of some added flowers to the coffin, and 'what a wonderful world' played as the coffin was lifted out of the church, and we followed.

After my Great-Aunt had said her thank-yous to people who had come, and a quick cup of tea, we followed in a funeral precession to the crematory, where after a short few words by the vicar, the body was committed. Back to the church for tea and cakes that had been made by various members of the church, and chatted with the vicar and others.

It was the first funeral that I've been to in a church, within my conscious memory, though I did attend my Great Grandpa's when I was 3 or so. It struck me how religious it was. This is a pretty obvious statement, I must admit, but I've grown up with very little religious input so I found it was quite... unsubtle.

I found it all very surreal. Everyone dressed up. The organist hurrying, in lurching, asymmetric bursts though the hymns, my immediate family around me trying our hardest to keep up with the unknown words and unknown prayers. I didn't know if my saying of 'amen' was appropriate. The widow, I feel for the benefit of pride or embarrassment, I didn't see shed a tear. I, on the other hand, was quite teary - not just for the passing of a life, but for the fragility of life - and thinking about those around me that I will, with chilling certainty, see at some point in the same situation... maybe even the same church. No time soon, no time soon.