I Shall Be Released
I came back from a two-week holiday (of which more soon) to a funeral, which wasn't ideal, but all the people who advised me to take the long-booked trip and not feel guilty were absolutely correct and I can't thank them enough.
Everything went as well as it could have done, with family, friends and neighbours in attendance and more who couldn't be there in person watching the webcast. I was touched by the number of my friends who came to support me, and the many who messaged to say they were thinking of me.
My dear vicar friend M drove from South Wales to Dorset and back in a day to conduct the service, said it was an honour to be asked and wouldn't let me give him any petrol money. He researched and delivered the eulogy with sensitivity and humour, and everyone wanted to know how a deep-dyed atheist such as myself had met him (ha! he's a furry!).
We heard lovely things about my lovely mum and it was tough, damn tough, even with Howard at my right side and my auntie on my left, so I was almost glad when the casket finally descended next to my dad's plot and his hazel tree, which is coming along nicely. One of the neighbours dropped in a last cigarette. Then pub.
In the detailed instructions left in a Word doc titled with my name in ALL CAPS on her computer - along with a lot of stuff about pensions, insurance and credit cards I'm still working my way through - my mum had listed her chosen funeral hymns as well as the music for entry (I Shall Be Released, Bob Dylan and The Band) and exit (Impromptu in G Flat, Schubert).
The requested reading was 'Our revels now are ended' from The Tempest, and she'd added 'Needs really good reader though.'
"Bloody cheek, I'll do it myself," I thought (with my best friend from primary school as backup if I couldn't).
Obviously I'm no Dame Judi Dench, but I took a fair crack at it.
Everything went as well as it could have done, with family, friends and neighbours in attendance and more who couldn't be there in person watching the webcast. I was touched by the number of my friends who came to support me, and the many who messaged to say they were thinking of me.
My dear vicar friend M drove from South Wales to Dorset and back in a day to conduct the service, said it was an honour to be asked and wouldn't let me give him any petrol money. He researched and delivered the eulogy with sensitivity and humour, and everyone wanted to know how a deep-dyed atheist such as myself had met him (ha! he's a furry!).
We heard lovely things about my lovely mum and it was tough, damn tough, even with Howard at my right side and my auntie on my left, so I was almost glad when the casket finally descended next to my dad's plot and his hazel tree, which is coming along nicely. One of the neighbours dropped in a last cigarette. Then pub.
In the detailed instructions left in a Word doc titled with my name in ALL CAPS on her computer - along with a lot of stuff about pensions, insurance and credit cards I'm still working my way through - my mum had listed her chosen funeral hymns as well as the music for entry (I Shall Be Released, Bob Dylan and The Band) and exit (Impromptu in G Flat, Schubert).
The requested reading was 'Our revels now are ended' from The Tempest, and she'd added 'Needs really good reader though.'
"Bloody cheek, I'll do it myself," I thought (with my best friend from primary school as backup if I couldn't).
Obviously I'm no Dame Judi Dench, but I took a fair crack at it.
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