Mum's funeral
Wednesday, May 26th, 2010 12:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lizziecWe had mum's funeral today, and we couldn't have had a nicer day for it, weather wise. It was the kind of day mum would have loved, and she would have been extremely gratified and touched that so many people came to show their love and care for her by coming to say goodbye to her.
The funeral directors, a local firm called W A Truelove and Son were amazing, and made the day go very smoothly. We arrived everywhere exactly on time, never too early or too late. Mum was carried into church by a mixture of family and friends (Ben, foo, my uncle Allan, Duncan [mum's partner], Mark F and Giles), which was lovely. I held it together more or less until we got into the church and found just how many people there were (the church really was packed with mum's friends from all sorts of places, even my Auntie Joan, who we've not spoken to for years, and my cousin Mandy [ditto] came) and ended up crying through most all of the introduction and the first hymn.
Service sheet is here by the way.
After the hymn, I read the tribute which Phil and I had written together, and managed to keep it together enough to read it, though my voice kept breaking whenever I looked up and saw how many people were there for mum, so I tried to keep my eyes on the paper.
The Tribute
To say we put off writing this is something of an understatement. We failed to even get started until two days before the funeral, even though we have known that we have had to write this for a few days even before that. I think that writing this makes it real in a way that it hasn't been for the last two weeks. We knew mum was dying and said our physical goodbyes to her, but since then have done almost anything to avoid thinking about it on an emotional level.
There is also an element of writers block associated with our lack of action. How can we begin to adequately describe our love for the woman who gave birth to us, who brought us up and made us who we are today? How can we even begin to pay tribute to her strength, especially in bringing us up alone after our father died, or her considerable love for her family, her friends or for life?
The fact is that we could never even begin to do her justice through mere words, but the huge number of loving messages that we have all received through the post, by email or over facebook at the time that she was ill and after she died perhaps makes a start.
She was a woman of huge warmth, who lit up people's faces and lives. Who touched the existences of others and changed them for the better. Full of vibrant energy and giving spirit. We know that the world is a slightly dimmer place without the brightness of her spark.
The thing that struck us most after she died and as we began to clear her things was the cruelty of her being taken away from us when she was. She was excited about what the next few years held for her. Sorting the house so it was “just so” for when she retired, retirement itself, and the huge party she was going to throw for just about everyone she knew on that occasion. All the books she would read, travelling she would do, knitting she would accomplish. Day trips to here, there and everywhere in her trusty little car. She looked forward to seeing Phil settled and to welcoming her first grandchild, whenever it should come. We found books and cutlery she was already saving for that eventuality. She was happy in a relationship and had a vibrant social life. She was as content as we have ever seen her.
We hope that everyone remembers her like that. The excited, happy, bubbly, friendly, loving person she was, because we're certain that is how she would like to be remembered.
Satre said “existence precedes essence”. Another way to put this is “you make yourself” or “life is what you make of it”. Though no philosopher, mum took this idea to heart. Faced with the task of forging herself she produced a strong woman, who was stubborn and moral. She built from the ashes of near ruin a life worth living, and a home of warmth.
I know you all have your own ways to remember mum, and your own favourite memory, but I want to share with you this one from last September that I think helps show why I love her so much. We spent an evening in London and saw a musical on a whim, getting the tickets at a last minute booth with no idea of what we wanted to see until we got there. I wanted to see Les Mis, but at her insistence we saw Hairspray and we laughed until we were nearly sick. As well as being my mamma, she was one of my best friends too. And I know that I shall always miss her and the place in my life that she filled. We can only hope that, faced with the ongoing challenge of creating a life of meaning, we can achieve results that are as good.
My uncle David (mum's brother) read the bible reading, and then Ben read the poem, which is Long Distance II by Tony Harrison, which I have posted here before, but I'll post it again for completeness.
Long Distance II by Tony Harrison
Though my mother was already two years dead
Dad kept her slippers warming by the gas,
put hot water bottles in her side of the bed
and still went to renew her transport pass.
You couldn't just drop in. You had to phone.
He'd put you off an hour to give him time
to clear away her things and look alone
as though his still raw love were such a crime.
He couldn't risk my blight of disbelief
though sure that very soon he'd hear her key
scrape in the rusted lock and end his grief.
He knew she'd just popped out to get the tea.
I believe life ends with death, and that is all.
You haven't gone shopping; just the same,
in my new black leather phone book there's your name
and the disconnected number I still call.
The vicar (a lovely man, Mick Hough, who was miles better than the vicar we had at the same church for our wedding [his sermon involved homosexuals and protestants in ancient corinth]), used the poem as a way to launch into his address, which was beautiful, and talked about the finality of death for those left behind, but the hope for the next life and resurrection.
The service at the cemetery was very short and nice (and very well attended again), but seeing mum lowered into the ground was very hard, and so was putting a handful of earth in actually. After that we mingled for a bit (during which the mormon in attendance asked if we minded if he consecrated the grave "for your dad's sake" - we said he could, because honestly it doesn't matter to me either way, but I'm kind of pissed he invoked daddy*) before making our way back to the house to collect the car so we could meet everyone else at the pub near the church, where everyone mingled some more and talked about mum, which was nice in a different kind of way to the rest of the day. Once again, everyone was utterly amazing.
The pictures of the flowers are here (sorry, most of them are sideways as I uploaded them before I realised, then ran out of energy to fix them. Maybe I'll get around to it at a later date). There aren't many because we requested family flowers only, with donations to go to the Macmillan Nurses through the Undertaker who will collate them. The flowers we did get were stunningly beautiful though, and very mum I thought. The flowers from Phil and Ben and I are in the middle of this photo:
The ones to the left are from the Overal side of the family (dad's family), the ones to the right are from the Walker side (mum's side).
That's it, I think. Or at least it is for now. I'm pretty tired, but suffering from lack of arsedness to actually go to bed...
The funeral directors, a local firm called W A Truelove and Son were amazing, and made the day go very smoothly. We arrived everywhere exactly on time, never too early or too late. Mum was carried into church by a mixture of family and friends (Ben, foo, my uncle Allan, Duncan [mum's partner], Mark F and Giles), which was lovely. I held it together more or less until we got into the church and found just how many people there were (the church really was packed with mum's friends from all sorts of places, even my Auntie Joan, who we've not spoken to for years, and my cousin Mandy [ditto] came) and ended up crying through most all of the introduction and the first hymn.
Service sheet is here by the way.
After the hymn, I read the tribute which Phil and I had written together, and managed to keep it together enough to read it, though my voice kept breaking whenever I looked up and saw how many people were there for mum, so I tried to keep my eyes on the paper.
The Tribute
To say we put off writing this is something of an understatement. We failed to even get started until two days before the funeral, even though we have known that we have had to write this for a few days even before that. I think that writing this makes it real in a way that it hasn't been for the last two weeks. We knew mum was dying and said our physical goodbyes to her, but since then have done almost anything to avoid thinking about it on an emotional level.
There is also an element of writers block associated with our lack of action. How can we begin to adequately describe our love for the woman who gave birth to us, who brought us up and made us who we are today? How can we even begin to pay tribute to her strength, especially in bringing us up alone after our father died, or her considerable love for her family, her friends or for life?
The fact is that we could never even begin to do her justice through mere words, but the huge number of loving messages that we have all received through the post, by email or over facebook at the time that she was ill and after she died perhaps makes a start.
She was a woman of huge warmth, who lit up people's faces and lives. Who touched the existences of others and changed them for the better. Full of vibrant energy and giving spirit. We know that the world is a slightly dimmer place without the brightness of her spark.
The thing that struck us most after she died and as we began to clear her things was the cruelty of her being taken away from us when she was. She was excited about what the next few years held for her. Sorting the house so it was “just so” for when she retired, retirement itself, and the huge party she was going to throw for just about everyone she knew on that occasion. All the books she would read, travelling she would do, knitting she would accomplish. Day trips to here, there and everywhere in her trusty little car. She looked forward to seeing Phil settled and to welcoming her first grandchild, whenever it should come. We found books and cutlery she was already saving for that eventuality. She was happy in a relationship and had a vibrant social life. She was as content as we have ever seen her.
We hope that everyone remembers her like that. The excited, happy, bubbly, friendly, loving person she was, because we're certain that is how she would like to be remembered.
Satre said “existence precedes essence”. Another way to put this is “you make yourself” or “life is what you make of it”. Though no philosopher, mum took this idea to heart. Faced with the task of forging herself she produced a strong woman, who was stubborn and moral. She built from the ashes of near ruin a life worth living, and a home of warmth.
I know you all have your own ways to remember mum, and your own favourite memory, but I want to share with you this one from last September that I think helps show why I love her so much. We spent an evening in London and saw a musical on a whim, getting the tickets at a last minute booth with no idea of what we wanted to see until we got there. I wanted to see Les Mis, but at her insistence we saw Hairspray and we laughed until we were nearly sick. As well as being my mamma, she was one of my best friends too. And I know that I shall always miss her and the place in my life that she filled. We can only hope that, faced with the ongoing challenge of creating a life of meaning, we can achieve results that are as good.
My uncle David (mum's brother) read the bible reading, and then Ben read the poem, which is Long Distance II by Tony Harrison, which I have posted here before, but I'll post it again for completeness.
Long Distance II by Tony Harrison
Though my mother was already two years dead
Dad kept her slippers warming by the gas,
put hot water bottles in her side of the bed
and still went to renew her transport pass.
You couldn't just drop in. You had to phone.
He'd put you off an hour to give him time
to clear away her things and look alone
as though his still raw love were such a crime.
He couldn't risk my blight of disbelief
though sure that very soon he'd hear her key
scrape in the rusted lock and end his grief.
He knew she'd just popped out to get the tea.
I believe life ends with death, and that is all.
You haven't gone shopping; just the same,
in my new black leather phone book there's your name
and the disconnected number I still call.
The vicar (a lovely man, Mick Hough, who was miles better than the vicar we had at the same church for our wedding [his sermon involved homosexuals and protestants in ancient corinth]), used the poem as a way to launch into his address, which was beautiful, and talked about the finality of death for those left behind, but the hope for the next life and resurrection.
The service at the cemetery was very short and nice (and very well attended again), but seeing mum lowered into the ground was very hard, and so was putting a handful of earth in actually. After that we mingled for a bit (during which the mormon in attendance asked if we minded if he consecrated the grave "for your dad's sake" - we said he could, because honestly it doesn't matter to me either way, but I'm kind of pissed he invoked daddy*) before making our way back to the house to collect the car so we could meet everyone else at the pub near the church, where everyone mingled some more and talked about mum, which was nice in a different kind of way to the rest of the day. Once again, everyone was utterly amazing.
The pictures of the flowers are here (sorry, most of them are sideways as I uploaded them before I realised, then ran out of energy to fix them. Maybe I'll get around to it at a later date). There aren't many because we requested family flowers only, with donations to go to the Macmillan Nurses through the Undertaker who will collate them. The flowers we did get were stunningly beautiful though, and very mum I thought. The flowers from Phil and Ben and I are in the middle of this photo:
The ones to the left are from the Overal side of the family (dad's family), the ones to the right are from the Walker side (mum's side).
That's it, I think. Or at least it is for now. I'm pretty tired, but suffering from lack of arsedness to actually go to bed...
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: Wed, May. 26th, 2010 07:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Wed, May. 26th, 2010 12:58 pm (UTC)I hope you feel more rested soonest.
no subject
Date: Wed, May. 26th, 2010 04:53 pm (UTC)