I recently went to two funerals – two days in a row!
I had only heard about each funeral in the morning and changed my day to go to each. I cancelled my appointments and rescheduled – well, everything I had to do – all the necessary parts of life, that can’t wait, on these days, just had to wait…
Both were Mums. One left this world after a long life and one left this world with a long life
unspent.
The mourners were the family and close friends. The absent, were the acquaintances, the work colleagues and all the other people that we run around filling our lives with.
I was not there as a part of the families – I was not there as a life long close friend – I was not there for the Mums who we were mourning – I was there for the living.
I was there because the living need the living, to keep them living, when they mourn the dead. It made me sad.
But, I was prouder than I was sadder. I was there if needed. Mostly I was there.
I drove home and watched the world of Mums, and Dads, and friends, and work colleagues, and acquaintances, all still running around filling their lives, because they were the living – it is a world of the living.
This is not the first time I have noticed that the living don’t notice that they are living. They mourn the dead and then go to the shops.
As we get older there are less of us living who we know: fewer who were with us from the start; until eventually we may be lucky, or unlucky enough to be the last one that you really know – we are there sitting in our chair, watching ‘Days of Our Lives’, pissing our pants and waiting for our relatives to visit who never seem to come – at what stage do we become irrelevant as part of the living but not quiet yet one of the dead. Does our funeral signify a relief to the living, and perhaps to ourselves – or is it just another occasion for the living to be too busy to attend.
Two funerals are not necessarily better than one.
At one of the funerals the poem “The Dash’ by Linda Ellis was read : which in part says:
….. he noted that first came the date of birth
and spoke the following date with tears,
but he said what mattered most of all
was the dash between the years…..
So even in death, it really is the living that matter. It probably goes as far to say that it doesn’t really matter how you die, but how you live. Yeah, it is tragic and sad when someone goes before their time, but when you go, surely that is your time. It always surprises me, when we are surprised at death, as really, and literally, it is inevitable for all of us – it is just the timing and the length and quality of the dash that are different.
Not going to funerals is however a different thing to not going to just about anything else. We can visit lots and lots after the first date, and be involved lots of times during the ‘dash’. But after the second date, the celebration of the second date, that date has nothing after it for the person who’s name is above those dates and the dash. I suppose it may well not matter because they will never know – only we, the living will.
Two funerals are not necessarily better than one – but one funeral is inevitable for us all, we must attend ; no one else is on the compulsory list, no one else who is a part of the living are required.
Perhaps I go to funerals because it tells me a lot about the living – it tells me that my ‘dash’ is still there and there is yet one date to be written – and as with all, the length of the dash in undetermined, although always inevitable; but, most of all the quality of the dash can be changed in an instant – good or bad.
So, I will attend funerals to celebrate the insertion of the second date for someone else, and the continuation of my ‘dash’. I may very well shed a tear for the Mum of my friend and the wife of my friend and the friend of my friend. I may shed that tear for the dead and the living.
I read the ‘memorial card’ – the last letter written for the dead by the living. The photo and verse that they choose to leave this world with. That last memento of their ‘dash’ you get to hold in your hand. And, then they are gone. They live nowhere else other than in our thoughts – and perhaps more importantly in our deeds – deeds done in their name: deeds such as kindness, charity, fairness, forgiveness and love. Deeds that start with “what would Mum/Dad/Wife/Husband/Child/Friend do, what would they be proud of me for….”
So, the second date is inserted for another, and the funeral has been, their final letter written and I am on my way to the shops. I do the stuff that the living do.
I go home where I live my ‘dash’ and collect my mail on the way to the door.
There’s a letter. Not junk mail, not bills, not a hastily written card for my birthday, not a personalised “To The Householder” envelope, but…. a letter.
It was from my friend, who is part of the living.
I had two funerals and a letter. They were two long days that now they are over, seem too short.
I read my funeral cards and read my letter – two from the dead and one from the living. All moments of time I can hold in my hand.
I’ll keep rescheduling and leave the living for a morning or an afternoon to go to farewell the dead. It is the last date after the dash; it is their last letter that we get to hold.
I’ll also keep writing letters to the living; then when my second date is inserted they can keep that moment to remember our dash.
What is it with old people wanting to either rule the world or tell me about their latest operation.
POST SCRIPT
a tool box trolley to wheel my tool boxes around. This is of course only needed when the ‘shed toolbox’ does not have a tool I need and I have to bring the ‘car toolbox’ into the shed or visa versa. Plus if you have the tool box on wheels and are using the stool on wheels you can actually do all your jobs again by just scooting around on your stool and having your tool box in tow – and getting beer at the same time.
sausage sizzle or the morning pancake parade while trying to feed 100s of our own kids and the 100s that always seem to be hanging around (and recently writing things on our shopping list that they would like us to have in our house for them!). This ‘family BBQ’ is the next generation with a built in table, it’s own set of tools and I have got rid of the annoying little ‘fat cup’ underneath and put in a ‘fat channel’ that directs all the fat into beer can that you throw away at the end of the day (my Mother would be horrified as this ‘dripping’ was what she cooked all our breakfast eggs in – usually at a depth of about 3 cms!).
slogged it out alone rather than ask ‘a mate’ for help. If I do ask for help (I may be pinned under an engine block for example…) I just can’t get over the feeling of obligation in ‘returning the favour.’ Owing a days work is like spending time until I pay it back carrying an anvil of obligation around my neck (anvils are really heavy…)