My Grandads funeral took place this week. I find funerals in general, a bit weird. Whether you are completely distraught or find the whole thing creepy and awkward – there you all are, side by side. Close friends and relatives standing shoulder to shoulder, with people they love, despise and don’t even know.
- I’m so sorry for your loss
- My condolences
- You must be devastated
- That was a beautiful send off
Whatever your words. Whoever you are. Whatever you feel. It’s all very final and sobering. Someone that once was everything has gone.
We opted to abandon the traditional black on the day. My Grandad was not a fan of being dark or depressed. We dressed for church. Respectful without being morbid. Being at a funeral, causes people to act, as they would in a cramped lift. Lots of looking at the floor and avoiding eye contact. Quiet whispers and defensive body language.
After weeks of feeling, that I didn’t have time to process anything, time seemed to stop. I was now in the back of a limo, following a hearse, traveling at one mile a week. The silence in the car, amongst the immediate family, was suffocating. The respect from strangers, in the street as we passed by, was so moving. From the bikers that nodded to the old-school gentlemen, that tipped or removed their hat’s, as we drove by…it seemed almost surreal.
My Grandads coffin, was decorated in blue and white flowers. Walking behind it, as Nat King Cole sang gently in the background, was a little overwhelming. That said. I didn’t cry at all. I had a job to do. I had written his eulogy and I was going to be reading that, no matter what. It was my pride and my love that gave me my laser focus.
I delivered. I read my words in tribute to him, loud and proud. As I sat down, my inner voice, offered a somewhat inappropriate ‘nailed that bitch!’ compliment to my ego. Now I was free to mourn him.
On leaving, we each placed a single white rose on his casket and left. He was to be buried next to my Nan, who had died 27 years earlier. I was 12 years old when I first visited those gardens, to attend her funeral. I was now back, feeling every single year of that loss all over again.
We didn’t have a Wake. There was only the 6 of us, after the nurses and friends left. We shared a rather awkward toast, at a local bar and all went our separate ways. Back to the DIY grieving process.
Learning to live without him seems impossible. I prefer to think of it, as living with him differently. It’s easier on my brain and kinder on my heart. At least it will be easier and kinder, once I stop wishing for one last conversation, one last hug, one last time…
I can’t imagine I will ever stop wishing that.
Goodnight and God bless Gramps. You were the first man, who ever loved me for me. Rest in peace my gentle giant. You have been loved.