Goodbye

Like many people at the minute, my sister and I had to arrange a funeral in very strained circumstances. It's never an easy thing, I guess - I've never had to do it before. When my dad died, we were both quite young - I had just turned 15 and my sister was 12 - and it was out of our hands.
I've been to enough funerals though to know the form, and currently there are many restrictions in place. We couldn't use the chapel. It was a graveside service, with a limit to the number of people in attendance, which meant my sister and me, plus immediate family. We couldn't even have floral tributes as florists aren't open. No hugging to comfort each other, and at the end we would head off back to our own lockdowns again.
It doesn't sound like much of a send off, does it?
Be that as it may, the stripped down affair on the day was quite touching.
If there can be such a thing as lovely weather for a funeral, then this was it. Sunlit blue skies untroubled by anything but a few fluffy clouds.
I drove to the funeral with my eldest son, who is 12. During the drive we chatted about what to expect. The only funerals he has been to before were when he was a baby. I said that I'd probably be upset, as would his aunt, and that he might be too, and that was alright. But it was alright if he didn't feel like crying - there's no one way to feel at a funeral.
I'd asked if he would read something on the day, and he agreed. We chose a poem suggested by the celebrant - She is Gone, by David Harkins. I asked him because I thought he could do it. He's very composed for his age. I hope he didn't feel pressured to do it, and I told him that if it came to it, and he didn't feel able, then he didn't have to read it.
With little traffic on the road we arrived in the town of Leighton Buzzard with about half an hour to spare, so we sat in a lay by for a bit. No cafes for a cuppa. The we drove to the cemetery where mum was to join dad.
My sister was already there with her partner and youngest son. So was the celebrant, who I had previously spoken to on the phone. We spoke briefly and anxiously to each other, but there was little time to say much to each other before the hearse arrived carrying mum's small coffin.
We followed the car into the cemetery to the strains of The Corries' Loch Lomond playing gently in the background. James, the celebrant, was a very comforting presence and led us gently through a simple service to remember mum. I said some words, getting through it relatively well until near the end when I choked. My son was next to do his reading and I'm immensely proud that was able to carry it out - he grew that day. It was also great to have him as my support - I don't know how I would have got through it without having someone to hug.
At the end of the service, my sister distributed some floral tributes that she had made, with pictures of mum with various family members and friends, and we dropped them into the grave on her coffin.
It was over relatively quickly, and with no hugs beyond the bounds of our two little groups, we went home.
It was simple, and that's what my mum liked, so it was a fitting service for her, even if it wasn't what we'd have chosen ordinarily. In some ways, the simplicity helped us deal with the day better. I think I'd have struggled to face all the family and friends on the day - it's such an emotional tidal wave. People want to pay their respects and offer their condolences, of course they do, and as someone who is grieving, you have to accept their wishes, but every one revives the upset you feel. It's a long and trying day.
This was more manageable for both me and my sister I suspect. We've spoken to family and friends before the day, and had lots of very touching messages, and that was plenty, to be honest. We'll see these people again at some point, and we'll probably cry with some of them individually.
We'll all remember her.