Paying attention to Tiredness

This mourning or whatever it is that I am doing is so different to what I thought it would be. I am not in the slightest upset, not in the slightest. I regret that I will not be able to speak to my dad again, that he won’t be sitting in the garden reading, or asking me to open a bottle of wine at dinner or telling Wendy another of his stories, but really I do not cry, I do not mourn.

But it does feel so physical all of this. Just as though I have been in a huge fight or battle, as though I have walked a hundred miles and then been caught in a street riot. But only at times. Sometimes my throat is closed with anxiety; sometimes my stomach is hollow like I might be sick, but so often I am wanting to just sleep and stare, and not have to do anything with anyone.

The funeral went perfectly, we had done all the organizing; sorted who would get the hall ready, how we would get to the crematorium; all that and then there we were. I took Mum, Wendy, Keri and Finn in the car and I don’t remember much of the drive, except that in the back they were all talking away; all sort of excited.

There was no parking at the crematorium but luckily we managed to find somewhere on the street. I got a call, all panicky, from Juliet thinking she had driven to the wrong crematorium, which she hadn’t.

Then we were making our way to the family chapel; having to skirt the crowd of people who had been in just before us, lots of people with lots of flags and uniforms.

We did not quite know what to do but found Arwen who showed me and Mum the inside of the chapel and asked if we wanted to follow the coffin in or wait inside. Mum wanted to wait inside so after Juliet and some of the girls had been to the toilet that is what we did.

Us and Mum and then everyone else scattered around.

I liked the coffin, when the funeral people took it in; all dark, with Dad’s Royal Ocean Racing Club Flag draped over it and that huge lovely spray of flowers.

And then it was singing which I didn’t do, and which Richard did, slightly to my surprise. It was hymns and prayers. Finn read the lighthouse extract out and Richard came up to speak. He could hardly speak, kept on having to dab tissues at his eyes. He was funny and loving and sad and terribly, terribly, moving.

When his voice broke when he said he hoped that Dad knew he loved him; I could hear people behind me crying.

Then Juliet and David, Ella, Arran and Finn sang the Celtic Grace gathered around the coffin; slightly halting at first. In the silence that followed; Juliet rested her head on Dad’s coffin, making it bang loudly.

Holy water was sprinkled; blessings made, and the curtain drawn around Dad.

When we were leaving; Mum stopped in front of the curtain and leant into me and said.

“He really has gone now hasn’t he!”

Gave a sob and said; “Goodbye my love.”

At that I felt the first touch of a tear in my eyes. We had a hug and we walked out; off to the cars and home.

In the front we said nothing much, in fact Mum nearly fell asleep, she was so still and silent I reached out, while driving, to check she was ok. In the back everyone was subdued and ended up talking about expressing emotion, talking about masculinity and how it is not always a sign of toxicity when men don’t automatically cry when sad things happen.

At home, Richard was ever so organized; taking the young people to the chapel where Jackie had the food, along with the collage of photos of Dad.

I don’t know what we did then; maybe we had a coffee, maybe we talked. Juliet had texted to say they would be stopping on the way back. At some point Kathryn said maybe we should put the soup on, so we did which occupied me; stirring it so that it wouldn’t stick.

It took ages to heat up, by which time Jackie had been back to let us know the chapel looked beautiful and that there was more than enough food. She gave me some change from the food and Finn and Keri returned.

Richard and the others, came back just as the soup was ready and Juliet and her crowd just after.

We ate, I wondered around, impatient for us to start and then we were wandering down the road to the church; me, Mum, Wendy, Keri and Finn, with the others following further back.

Just as we reached the church; we found the Geogeghans and the Davidsons; hugs introductions and conversation until me and Mum moved away to the church.

Mum chose to sit by the wall in the front pew besides some flowers. Everything looked lovely; so many people, so many flowers and Arwen and two other ministery type people. They walked down following a cross, bowed in different directions, signed the cross over their chests; seemed more like Catholics than C. of E. people.

I was preoccupied; wondering if I would cry when I did my eulogy, knowing I wouldn’t and worried about the devil stuff. Worried that by being there I was bringing evil into a holy place, worried that the congregation would fall into misery; the church burn down. I found it hard to believe that goodness could overcome my evil as Arwen had said happens, found it hard to believe that she could be right that I wasn’t evil.

I didn’t sing; stared at the floor. I didn’t want to ruin something beautiful by trying to join in. As Arwen did her stuff, I seemed to be in a battle; trying to shrink my evil; sort of trying to explode so that the evil went and goodness overcame the darkness of me. It felt that if I contracted who I was as much as possible, it would reach a point at which the evil could no longer shrink and that then it would expand and goodness overtake everything.

I thought if that happened, I might have a heart attack too and worried about the effect on the people around me. Wondered it that would be a sign of evil too.

And then I did my speaking and it went well and the church didn’t fall down and I didn’t feel anything. It was like any performance that I have done when telling sad and personal stories.

Peter read out ‘Crossing the Bar’ wonderfully. He has the most incredible voice but at the end that voice broke and he looked unsteady as though not sure he could walk back to his place in the congregation.

Juliet’s eulogy was emotional and amazing. Wendy said the time she started crying again, was when Juliet was talking about how safe she had felt when she had had her dad’s big strong hand holding hers when she was a child.

The chapel for the after service was packed with people and looked beautiful, the children all already there to hand out coffee and tea and wine. We four had been greeting people at the church entrance, but I can’t remember much of what people said except that lots of them said my eulogy was lovely and could they hire me to give speeches?

And the chapel; well we talked, Peter sympathised at my hatred of small talk. I ate sandwiches and did manage to talk to various people. Keri came by with a big glass of wine and finally it was time to go home, carrying the left overs, with two church people taking over the tidying for us.

I was tired, we talked through the evening. Richard made a huge and lovely paella on his special portable paella pan and burner.

I think I tried to be funny a bit of the time. I think I was yearning for when we could go to bed without comment.

I must have drunk far, far, too much though I had no recollection of drinking more than usual.

And now I am home and it is raining and Wendy is next door with Paula and Dash the dog and I am listening to Lana del Reay.

Having this small hour of space is good; being able to write this is good, I even found I had to wipe a tear away a few minutes ago.