The Funeral

Richard

Monday saw a large group of family and friends coming together at Canley Crematorium in Coventry for the funeral of my brother, Richard. Funerals can be times for great sadness as we loudly weep for the one we have lost, or they may occasionally be raucous with cheering and laughter as people celebrate a great life. The funeral for Richard was quiet, dignified, almost solemn, as was the man. A complete contrast to me, he lived a quiet life, without great drama, and was spoken of as a peacemaker. His memorial too was quiet and pensive, and led to reflecting on how he had touched our lives rather than how he had changed the world, though he did have fame in entering the Guinesss Book of Records for visiting all the Anglican cathedrals in the UK and Northern Ireland. On the coffin, a large, framed photo showed him laughing, yet the Richard I remember rarely roared with laughter; rather, he had a quiet smile that reassured, and that was the brother I remember. With any death, we remember all the other people we have lost over the years. The greatest sadness is how little we tell the people we love what they mean to us while they are still with us; only with their loss do we reflect more deeply what lies behind the love, and how we ought to tell it while we have them with us. It would have meant so much to them. 

A good number came to the wake, for Richard was popular and well liked. It was held in a function room with a number of large, round tables but, as so often happens, our family divided into factions, the result of remarriage and the role of the step-parent. Annie ended up at one table with her immediate family, Edwin and Andre, while I was at a separate table with Peter, the children of my first marriage and their spouses and two of their children. Chris, now the new widow, was devastated and seemed to move in a trance, though she invited us out her for a coffee where we met Peter and his daughter, Laita, then back to her house for the afternoon. Her solicitor phoned while we were there, a reminder of the complexity that can follow a death; she wanted to talk of getting probate, the re-registration of the deeds of the house, and reassignment of powers of attorney. It was too much for me and Annie to take in, let alone poor Chris who was dutifully taking notes in the midst of her confusion and grief. 

Peter is a heavy smoker and drinker, five years younger than me, yet looks older but remains fit and healthy. He left the next day for Egypt where he likes to spend the long winter. He travels light with just a carrier bag containing a T-shirt, sandals, and underwear. Living is so cheap there he saves money living near a marina on the Red Sea, and buys anything he needs from the bazaars. He has always done what he wanted in life answering to no one, a complete contrast to Richard whose duty to his family and work was exemplary.

Annie does her best to give me a healthy diet and keep me going. She cooked a lovely piece of fish last night, but I had to take a knife to cut through the thick skin and found it difficult to chew, blaming my missing teeth.  As usual, it was totally my fault. I then noticed I had cut through the foil backing paper and was trying to chew that!