diamond geezer

 Wednesday, January 13, 2010

She'll never see the cards that arrived after she died. More than a hundred of them, in every shape and size, some beautifully hand-crafted, others still with a "59p" label stuck to the back. Cards from neighbours, cards from the family, cards from folk she met umpteen holidays ago, cards from acquaintances across the village, cards from far-flung relatives not seen in years, cards from everywhere. She'd have enjoyed reading them, and she'd have flushed red with embarrassment at the lovely words contained therein. Your cards will be the same, I'll bet, but you'll never see them.

She'll never see the size of the crowd that turned up at the church. Striding across the snow-white village green in wellies and walking boots. Parked up outside the churchyard having driven long distances along untreated roads. Warmly-wrapped well-wishers giving up an hour of their time to pay their last respects. Filling every pew in the church in dignified silence. People she knew and people she touched. People she respected and loved, and people who respected and loved her back. Your funeral will be the same, I hope, but you'll never get the opportunity to marvel at the turnout.

She'll never experience the atmosphere at her memorial service. The tear-jerking poems read out in her honour. The laughter from the congregation as the vicar recounted some of the happy times in her life. The emotional faces in the front row that nobody sitting behind could see. The joyful singing to celebrate, not to commiserate. The same hymn that was sung at her wedding, completely messed up because nobody realised that some of the lines had to be sung twice. A community coming together to say 'job well done'. Your funeral will be similarly memorable, I'm sure, but you'll never remember it yourself.

She'll never see life continue. After the hymnsheets are closed and the collection is taken. After the tea urns are emptied and the trestle tables of food are cleared. After the final curtains close and the family say their farewells. After the villagers walk home and the last black suit is hung back in the wardrobe. After the healing process has begun and the last tear has been shed. After days, and weeks, and years, life goes on. We're never around to see it happen, but it always does. Look back and smile, look forward and hope, and take comfort in the future.

<< click for Newer posts

click for Older Posts >>

click to return to the main page

...or read more in my monthly archives
Jan18  Feb18  Mar18  Apr18  May18  Jun18
Jan17  Feb17  Mar17  Apr17  May17  Jun17  Jul17  Aug17  Sep17  Oct17  Nov17  Dec17
Jan16  Feb16  Mar16  Apr16  May16  Jun16  Jul16  Aug16  Sep16  Oct16  Nov16  Dec16
Jan15  Feb15  Mar15  Apr15  May15  Jun15  Jul15  Aug15  Sep15  Oct15  Nov15  Dec15
Jan14  Feb14  Mar14  Apr14  May14  Jun14  Jul14  Aug14  Sep14  Oct14  Nov14  Dec14
Jan13  Feb13  Mar13  Apr13  May13  Jun13  Jul13  Aug13  Sep13  Oct13  Nov13  Dec13
Jan12  Feb12  Mar12  Apr12  May12  Jun12  Jul12  Aug12  Sep12  Oct12  Nov12  Dec12
Jan11  Feb11  Mar11  Apr11  May11  Jun11  Jul11  Aug11  Sep11  Oct11  Nov11  Dec11
Jan10  Feb10  Mar10  Apr10  May10  Jun10  Jul10  Aug10  Sep10  Oct10  Nov10  Dec10 
Jan09  Feb09  Mar09  Apr09  May09  Jun09  Jul09  Aug09  Sep09  Oct09  Nov09  Dec09
Jan08  Feb08  Mar08  Apr08  May08  Jun08  Jul08  Aug08  Sep08  Oct08  Nov08  Dec08
Jan07  Feb07  Mar07  Apr07  May07  Jun07  Jul07  Aug07  Sep07  Oct07  Nov07  Dec07
Jan06  Feb06  Mar06  Apr06  May06  Jun06  Jul06  Aug06  Sep06  Oct06  Nov06  Dec06
Jan05  Feb05  Mar05  Apr05  May05  Jun05  Jul05  Aug05  Sep05  Oct05  Nov05  Dec05
Jan04  Feb04  Mar04  Apr04  May04  Jun04  Jul04  Aug04  Sep04  Oct04  Nov04  Dec04
Jan03  Feb03  Mar03  Apr03  May03  Jun03  Jul03  Aug03  Sep03  Oct03  Nov03  Dec03
 Jan02  Feb02  Mar02  Apr02  May02  Jun02  Jul02 Aug02  Sep02  Oct02  Nov02  Dec02 

eXTReMe Tracker
jack of diamonds
Life viewed from London E3

» email me
» follow me on twitter
» follow the blog on Twitter
» follow the blog on RSS

my flickr photostream