please empty your brain below
You've reached that stage in life when you attend more funerals than weddings or christening. With former work colleagues it is often an occasion where two tribes meet that know little about the person's other life or each other. Ie a work group and a family group that have never met before or knew what the person was like in that other environment.

Yikes | 24.04.24 - 7:10 a.m. | #

A very thoughtful and evocative description. Perhaps it's just the ones I've attended, but I think a funeral being a celebration of a person's life is a good way to say goodbye.

Trevor S | 24.04.24 - 7:22 a.m. | #

Beautifully written. Where these words
opening a novel I'd be gripped. Ready to hear the story of a life.

Rod | 24.04.24 - 7:30 a.m. | #

I'm sorry for your loss, especially if it's someone very close to you.

Eric | 24.04.24 - 8:08 a.m. | #

Everyone has different preferences as to how they'd like the end of their life marked. I've given strict instructions to my family that they are not to morn my going but to celebrate finally getting rid of me. There's to be no dress code either. Want to wear scruffy trainers, jeans & t-shirt? Go for it!

(Although the buggers might enforce a sombre dress code just to spite me!)

Jon Jones | 24.04.24 - 8:26 a.m. | #

Yes,well written, and nicely evocative. My instructions are that all arrangements should be made to best suit those arranging it and those attending. I want no say!

Malcolm of Kent | 24.04.24 - 8:36 a.m. | #

I also attended a funeral last Wednesday, and it followed a similar simple choreography. There were no work colleagues - the departed was 94yo - but the family did them proud by celebrating a long life full of love, and well lived.

Frank F | 24.04.24 - 9:22 a.m. | #

Grief is a funny thing, my brother died last August and I found this from a random guy on reddit the most relevant summary:

As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.

TomH | 24.04.24 - 9:40 a.m. | #

I'm now the only one left of my childhood family. Mum, Dad, Brother, Sister, Aunts, Uncles, Grandparents, all gone.

Funerals a sad reality of life. My condolences.

Steve | 24.04.24 - 10:08 a.m. | #

Nicely written piece.

Initially I thought the first photo was of a vandalized grave.

Knowing people in that side of the business, it's the ones without friends and family which leave them reflecting on the value of both.

Still Anon | 24.04.24 - 11:02 a.m. | #

A gem of a post thanks.

My mum died last month. After some thought we decided to have no ceremony at all and the cremation happened without us there. She'd made it to 94, none of her contemporaries had matched her (or are unable to travel) and we're a small ageing family so it would have just been a handful of people going through the motions. The younger ones of us will have a day out at our favourite family holiday destination over the summer to remember her and do a bit of guerilla ash-scattering on the sand.

Pleased to say I haven't been to a funeral where black was the norm for many years. I don't think it helps.

Andrew S | 24.04.24 - 11:06 a.m. | #

Brightman “Time to Say Goodbye”?

Kim | 24.04.24 - 11:14 a.m. | #

Sorry for your loss DG. May fond memories remain.

TomH Thanks for the poem.
"You never know what’s going to trigger the grief." So true.
Today's post almost replicated the experience of my Dad's funeral last year, but now the waves are further apart.

I'm with Malcolm of Kent. I'm not going to care what the arrangements are by that stage so let the bereaved arrange things best suited to bring comfort to everyone else.

Cornish Cockney | 24.04.24 - 11:33 a.m. | #

It's interesting how quickly "innovative" ways of marking such an occasion turn into clichés. But there's actually something helpful and re-assuring about a cliché at times like this. It's useful to have a template everyone understands and is familiar with.

One thing that can be tricky to judge is the attire, witness the tie comment. When invited to wear "colourful clothing", interpretations can differ. To one it is pastel blue - to another, vibrant yellow or shocking pink. Misjudgement can lead to being conspicuous rather than blending in...

cau1khead | 24.04.24 - 11:38 a.m. | #

Sorry for your loss DG.

Richard Herring asks guest on his podcast if they think the photo that'll be used for their obituary has already been taken and that always makes me think.

Wild Edric | 24.04.24 - 12:40 p.m. | #

Cleary someone close to you but we are left guessing.

Andrew Cee | Homepage | 24.04.24 - 12:42 p.m. | #

I'm sorry for your loss DG.

Lucy | 24.04.24 - 1:20 p.m. | #

Very moving and real account of the loss of someone close to you. Thanks for sharing. My condolences to you and yours. RIP.

Emmet Lynch | 24.04.24 - 3:37 p.m. | #

When we celebrate the life of the departed, it's often fascinating to discover in the eulogy things we never knew about them - but are now too late to know. We often say, 'they'd have enjoyed that if they were here', so maybe it would be better to have such a celebration of someone's life when they are still alive and can appreciate it.

ActonMan | 24.04.24 - 5:25 p.m. | #

I'm not one to gush, but I can't get over how touching this is. You are a great writer, in so many styles, and we are fortunate that you choose to share that skill with us every day.

Wayne | 24.04.24 - 5:29 p.m. | #

As an earlier commenter noted, grief comes in waves, but that's far more natural than thinking you've got to cram all your sorrow into just a couple of specific occasions. I'm so sorry to hear of your loss, and thank you for sharing this.

Adam B. | 24.04.24 - 5:29 p.m. | #

I'm sorry for your loss.

mark addy | 24.04.24 - 6:46 p.m. | #

Beautifully done, DG. I'd far rather you hadn't had to write it, but thank you for sharing with us. Thinking of you x

Aunty Doris | 24.04.24 - 8:08 p.m. | #











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