On Death

Its crap that a dead person looks like they are sleeping. There simply is no spark, no essence, they truly are a husk – nothing left but the outside. Its horrible looking at the face of a loved one and knowing that they just aren’t there – its like looking at a bad portrait painted quickly and without adding the details.

An elderly aunt of mine died this week and today was the funeral. Our family is wide spread – but traveled from overseas to be there today. We are not the kissy huggy type and many of us do not write or ring or even send Christmas Cards. I went alone – not wanting to take my children – not to protect them – but out of respect. A funeral for me is not a circus nor somewhere that you get ‘seen’. If the kids had known Aunty, then it would have been appropriate to take them – but they had only met her a few times fleetingly. Her influence on me was when I was growing up and as a young adult.

As I wandered up the grassy slopes of the cemetery and toward the chapel, I saw relatives I hadn’t caught up with in over 20 years. We all looked older fatter and just a bit bedraggled. Sunglasses were the order of the day.

What a celebration of her life the Eulogy was. A tribute to the life and love of my aunt. Her story alone needs to be told in a book. She was 15 when the war broke out. 8th in a family of 10 – her sisters and younger brother took over running the dairy and pig farm while her brothers and father enlisted to go and fight overseas. Her son had such grace and love as he read out stories which made us laugh recalling family favourite tales of her youth and romance. How over the years of the war a young delivery trick driver who picked up the mile every day fell in love with the young farming girl.

I always wondered how our family who never touch except to say good bye ( and only some of us do that) it the kiss she started – she refused to let her brothers go to war without a kiss. She forced her children to kiss each other every time they parted – no matter how long it was. At the Graveside, words were spoken as the coffin lowered. As it slowly sunk down, everyone took out a white handkerchief and began to wave it. I have tears in my eyes thinking of the image right now. This was another thing she always did at every parting. She had a white linen handkerchief which she waved madly at every parting. I can see her in the distance waving that handkerchief and I am still crying. “ Until we see each other again”

Spontaneously the family erupted into “shes a jolly good fellow” along with the traditional howls and elongated ‘felloooooooowwww” that happens at family gatherings when this is sung. As it died out, the sobs started.

The universe works in strange ways and I wanted to share this experience with you as well. In the crowd I stood with a lonely lady who introduced herself to me asking if I were a relative. She said she was once a relative – but kept in contact with the family and was still very much part of it.

In the chapel I sat with a lady and her small family. We exchanged pleasantries. Within a few words of the speech , she was overcome with emotion and they left to stand at the back .

During the service the two women bothered me – I knew them somehow ( obviously they were relatives but who and where did they fit?) It was at the gravesite that I worked it out. When I was 12, cousins we had not met before came to visit. I have vivid memories of playing on swings and having a wonderful time with them – an older girl – the same age as I and twin girls. Months later we had news that a drunk driver had knocked the older girl from her bike killing her instantly and that one of the twins was severely injured. I was really affected by that news and still have stabbing pains as I think of it – and yet I only knew her for such a fleeting moment.

Rightly or wrongly, I sought out the two ladies and introduced myself again relating my story. It was a really lovely moment to share with them. My cousin, strangely enough was buried in the graveyard we were standing in.

I don’t know if there is closer with death. I saw my aunt being lowered down, earth being thrown on the top of her coffin. They use fine sand now – so that there isn’t the heavy thud noise. Its all too sad…. Can’t write any more.