Goodbyes
The dreaded day arrived. A kind and slightly mad friend was to collect my girls from school. We had decided that it was better they didn't attend the funeral. They were too young to deal with other peoples grief as well as their own. So to keep things as normal as possible off to school they went. My beautiful friend would collect them, in her most outrageous hat and make sure they had someone to talk to if needed and a bit of fun, to help them through the day. Bless her, she came to the church to support me too.
You find out who your friends are in times like this, I can't even begin to thank all those who were there for me in one way or another. Some looked after my girl, some gave my Mum healing, some were a shoulder to cry on and others, made a huge effort to turn up at the church even though they lived miles away and had job and families of their own. It was two of these very special people that had me in tears as I exited the car outside the front of the church, I just hadn't expected them to be there and I was overcome with emotion and gratitude for them.
The close family had gathered at my parent's house, to follow the hearse either in the funeral cars or in their cars. Mum was leaving home for the last time.
The funeral directors all dressed in the black top hat and tails looking like something from Oliver Twist, one walking in front of the hearse until we got to the main road.
The church was packed over 200 people who had turned up to say goodbye to my Mum. The vicar managed to do a good job and not say anything inappropriate, Mum's friend told those gathered about the beautiful woman my Mum had been, all the fantastic work she had done to help others and all the adventures she had created for her grandchildren.
I read a poem, tripping on my way up to the lectern, put me at ease, I could almost hear my mum giggling.
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
By Mary Elizabeth 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 sun 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.
I had chosen this poem because as a strange teenager I had loved it so much that it was on the wall next to my bed and I read it every night.
The service included Mum's favourite hymn ' Jesus I have promised'.
We had found a list in her Filofax of the songs to play as people left the church, we were relieved that 'Always look on the Bright side of life' by Monty Python had been crossed out. So she left her family for the last time to travel alone to the crematorium and be returned to the ground to 'Smile' by Barbara Streisand.
