Categories: uncategorized
Date: 13 January 2007 22:36:36
Perfect.
Mourning for self, but celebrating for Dad - it was a perfect day. I was so moved by how many people were there (and overwhelmed by the number of sympathy cards we've had - thank you to those who sent them!) or who wanted to be there and were unable. And it was lovely to have friends and relations from the mainland with us... a rare occasion for a large part of the family to get together and again a chance to deepen relationships with people I've only known superficially in the form of my cousins (who intend to come and stay and bring their grandson later in the year).
I felt comfortable and confident in my new clothes and had indulged in a haircut at the very expensive hairdresser I used to go to... the one where they give you a head and shoulder massage while you're there! (Hmmm... wonder why I like it there so much!) The boys looked great in their new shirts and ties (£3 from BHS - can't do much better than that) and made a real effort to look good for Grandad, particularly proud to wear his tie pins when we decided to offer them one each as a reminder of him. I think Dad would have been so proud of them, especially the way they behaved.
A friend at church had done all but the casket flowers and the church looked absolutely beautiful - bright and welcoming, yet tasteful for a funeral. The hardest moment was seeing the coffin stand at the front of the church, just waiting for them to bring the coffin in - harder in fact than seeing it there. Strange that.
I managed my reading with only one mistake and only one difficult moment. I read Psalm 139 - a Psalm that was particularly meaningful to Dad and Mum and me and which I'd read for Mum at her funeral ten years previously. Read it- it's amazing. The hard moment? - the line where it describes God as placing his hand upon my head. That was hard to read because that was Dad's touch - his hand upon my head in love and blessing, right up until he became too weak to do it... a source of strength and comfort, almost a channelling of his love and God's too. When I was sitting by his bed in the hospice, it was the hardest thing imaginable because I so wanted to lift his hand and place my head beneath it, just to gain that strength from his touch, but had to content myself with holding his hand instead. I understand those people whose relationships with their fathers make it hard to relate to the image of God as a father, but for me that was one aspect of my own father that has brought me into a closer relationship with God and is perhaps the thing I miss most. His touch upon my head.
Move on quickly, Smudge... get those tears under control.
The biggest gift to my Dad was the singing. He'd so have loved it. We made it clear to all and sundry that we wanted no mournful dirges - we were going to sing my Dad into heaven! And sing we did. Great is Thy Faithfulness; The King of Love my Shepherd is; And Can It Be; and my Dad's personal favourite and his "request" for his funeral - a strong and true rendition of Will Your Anchor Hold In The Storms of Life. Fantastic. And one thing was really apt for Dad. The minister had questioned whether singing And Can It Be in the crematorium after the church service would be the best choice as it needed to be sung with gusto and was quite long, and he suggested at least that we cut a couple of verses out. I reluctantly agreed to the latter suggestion, though I insisted we sing it because it was right for Dad and because I knew there'd be enough real singers there to give it some oooomph. But I did an order of service with the shortened version and informed the crematorium of our intentions. But a breakdown of communication meant that the organist hadn't been told, and the crem had put out sheets with the whole hymn on. The first verse went fine. The second verse was a little odd - everyone but the family was singing from the crem version and the family, who knew what we should be doing of course, was singing the version on the sheet. So, knowing we were outnumbered, the family decided we'd be best simply singing from the same hymn sheet as the rest! The minister commented at the end of the hymn "Jack loved that hymn - I bet he wouldn't have been happy if we'd left half of it out, after all"!
We went back to the church for refreshments, which was really nice, then the family and the friends from the mainland went back to Dad's bungalow for the evening. My lovely neighbour babysat the children so that I could spend the time with my family before they left the following morning. And despite the sad occasion, it was a wonderful time. We had, during the day, set out all Dad's paintings so that his special friends could choose one to keep - and suddenly everyone wanted one. We found paintings we'd never seen before. Naturally there were some duds, but we were astounded at his versatility and his amazing talent, a talent never realised before he retired at 62 and went to college to do Art O'level (He got grade A!). During his lifetime the biggest compliment you could pay my dad was to ask for one of his paintings - he'd have been overwhelmed hearing the delight that everyone took in them that night - "look at this" "Have you seen this?" "Did you know about this one?" "How on earth did he do that?"
I have begun the task of scanning some of them onto the computer. We are going to follow the hospice example and print them as notelets and birthday cards which we can sell to raise money for the hospice. Enough of his paintings have gone to his friends and relations (including one each for the Smudgelets) for the number of remaining paintings to be manageable, so instead of having to face the ordeal of parting with them (none of us have sufficient wall space to hang them as our walls are already covered with his masterpieces!), we are able to put them in a portfolio and keep them as family treasures.
It was a good farewell, in so far as farewells can be good. Dad would have / will have loved it and it was incredibly moving - sad but warm - just right. My Dad is at rest and for that I am grateful.