Will your anchors hold…

Well today was lovely; I had two funerals To attend.

The first funeral was for Gran B; my sister’s mother in law. Gran B was always Gran.B to mine too. She was a force to be reckoned with and a lovely lady with a sense of humour - needed to cope with seven grandweans …

The second was for a colleague’s dad. He had been ailing for sometime and I’ve listened to him deteriorate through office chats over the past few months.

Everyone knows I am awful at funerals. I cry when I see a hearse heading for the crematorium even without knowing who it is.

Sometimes though there is a sense of duty which must prevail.

I try to retain an air of absence - I think on different things to distract from the grief which surrounds me. At Gran B’s, it was easy; the organ was horrible. The artex on the ceiling was terrible.

I contemplated the length of time it must have been there. Grandpa A also had his funeral there and I’m pretty sure it was exactly the same then, and I cannot put a date on that

Why is it thought that the memories creep in and grab you at the back of your throat … and poke you in the eye?

I had sat with Gran B at family occasions. She was always a joy to sit beside. Plenty of conversation and she adored her family. Absolutely adored them; and they her.

I blinked and blinked. Looked at the scabby plastic flowers on the window and I was okay again.

I was devastated I didn’t get round all my nephews and nieces and peeping the horn and waving wildly isn’t really acceptable behaviour outside a funeral home.

At B’s funeral…. 20 miles across Ayrshire and starting one hour from the start of Gran B’s, I arrived after the hearse… I tried to drive past with my head under the level of the window. But I don’t think it worked .

I parked quickly and ran up to the end of the queue. I was delighted to see our Account manager… confused that she felt her duty included attending funerals of family members of customers.. but hey it was someone to talk to.

As we chatted back and forth … the people; the parking; the weather; the traffic… it was almost time to Go in and then she said ‘and how is it you know B? ‘.

I looked at her and said ‘eh? You know.. I work with D… and she looked at me confused and said ‘I’m d’s cousin - B was my uncle.

Then I had to apologise profusely…. She wasn’t the manager… she definitely looked like her, but it wasn’t her. I explained how alike she was and how I had chatted inanely because of who I thought she was! What an idiot.

It was a much smaller funeral - the organist was better and in tune and he sung as loudly and clearly as he played. I joined in that game. And thoroughly enjoyed it.

There was a slide show of memories. I enjoyed that - there was a photo of my colleague with a really bad shirt on; I’m going to insist he digs it out and wears it to work.

But as I sat there; I contemplated the way we do this; the way we say goodbye to our loved ones. The stress of the funeral; the boxes; the flowers; the awful hymns … the shaky hand line at the end . It’s awful

As the funeral ended the group of people were directed towards the exit where the family were waiting. I left by the front door and ran to the car.

The whole funeral is a reflection of a life lived. I saw two very different lives which had been lived and loved;

I heard laughter and saw as many smiles as tears at one but not the other; and I’d like to think that would be the kinda funeral I’d have - although when Si puts me in the brown bin and has a BBQ in the garden there won’t be any bad organ music

There is only grief where love has existed