Debra's funeral
Writing up a funeral isn't an easy thing, and nor should it be - I took no photos and recorded nothing while there, because you should after all be paying proper attention to what's going on around you (and in any case I was frankly sobbing for quite a bit of the talking). We got to Bristol Crem and Cem in good time, though not early enough for a bite beforehand (cleanskies and party found a greasy spoon caff that appropriately enough sold teacakes and bacon sandwiches to boot, yay them!). The sun was shining, we had hats on (or the males mostly did, as per instructions - I'd made sure that B's hat was a nice flowery pretty hat to offset the extremely blue clothing he was otherwise clad in from head to toe), we shuffled into the room for the service on our cue (said cue being the arrival of two large black funeral cars with a discreet Co-op funeral service sticker in the window).
People spoke, prayers were said (Debra wanted to acknowledge her Jewish heritage while having a partly secular service), eulogies were said. jasonelvis's words in particular hit the spot, being both funny and appropriate, but I didn't write them down and they have gone out of my mind in any detail*. The one detail that does stick was the piece written by Lily, Debra's niece, about the Moomins and how Debra had compared herself to Snufkin once, rather to Lily and her mum's amusement, who thought she was much more of a Fillyjonk. But now Lily reckons that was a bad comparison too; she was a Moominmamma in many ways, and a Hemulen in her intelligence, and a Moomintroll and Snork Maiden in her sense of fun. We can all see many aspects of ourselves in many of Jansson's characters, because they were so well-drawn; Debra was certainly at least partly a nervous Fillyjonk, second-guessing herself about (some) stuff, but she was so much more than that.
The last song, Lemon Jelly's Space Walk, nearly finished me off, but then I had been crying off and on anyway.
* I tell a lie. Jason had rather a nice bit about talking to Debra about what he might say at the funeral; his mind was a bit of a blank, and all he could think of was that she liked bluebells. To which the reply was "humph. Everyone likes bluebells." But as Jason says, she's the sort of person who'd know where the big drifts of bluebells are; who would pack a picnic and make a day of it. She'd turn something beautiful into something really special.
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After the indoor service we walked slowly to the graveside, and the casket (a wicker basket writ large - very nice, very appropriate) was lowered into the hole. The family shovelled some token clods of earth in with only minor mishaps (a handbag that fell in and had to be rescued by a tattooed earth digging man). There was light refreshments on offer at Debra's but as we'd not had lunch a bunch of us agreed to stop at the nearest pub for a bite first. It worked well but not quickly, so there was precious little time in the end for us to be at Debra's house with the family; but at least we'd had time to sit around in the pub reading MCR jam comics. My, those were funtime comics in so many ways.
Goodbye, Debra. I really wish you hadn't had to go so soon.
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