Venting etc update

I never have to speak to that bloody man again.


In hindsight, and in the cooling down of tempers (okay - temper....mine) I have had pangs of guilt. This man is grieving. This person has lost someone very dear to him. This man is floundering alone in the world.


And then I remember the correspondence we shared in which he said "well, I am sad that we haven't been able to spend as much time on this as I would have hoped".


Oh for ......goodness sake! He may not have done - probably because he was too busy sorting out his new bathroom, trying to get people to contribute to the ceremony (who really weren't that interested) and floating around saying "but I need to have this ceremony". I however, did spend a lot of time on the ceremony, talking to those who could be interested enough to contribute, trying to get information out of people who were leaving it all to this bloody man, and trying to write a ceremony despite constant interruptions from the annoying little....soldier.



I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Anyone reading this would probably be horrified and think that I'm completely unsympathetic at a time when someone is grieving a loss. I'm really not. I'm just human, and there are some behaviours that get right on my threepennies, and his behaviour was demanding, clinging and solipsistic. It was only the fact that I knew that he was grieving that prevented me from telling him to shove the whole ceremony right up his.....



Deep breaths, deep breaths. I must go to my happy place....





By way of contrast, the funeral without the body was quite an experience.



Firstly, for the outdoor bit, we had to walk to the top of a hill. Perhaps I should explain - I don't do outdoors, and I don't do exercise (which explains my trim and youthful physique), and so was glad that we had a bit of milling around at the top of the hill, as it enabled me to get my breath back.

Once there, this was relatively familiar ground - a tribute to the deceased, some readings from loved ones, a moment of silence for reflection and/or prayer.

Then we went to the indoor venue, and the bit that I was dreading, the "and who would like to speak now" part. These have an element of chaos about them, and I know that chaos is wonderful and human and spontaneous, but I worry that as I'm there (and, let's be honest, being paid) to keep order, I want to do my job properly, and to the standard that folks want.

The initial discussions with the family had been to have a completely open ended thing, but I suggested that we would need some kind of finish to the semi-formal bit, before the whole thing descends into what is simply a social gathering, when people talk about last week's match, rather than focusing on the deceased. Not that there's anything wrong with the social stuff, but that's not what I've been asked there for.

It was fine. Siblings of the deceased read some pre-prepared words. The lady's children and partner did the same. Another relative had written a lovely poem. A former colleague said what a nice person she had been to work for, it was all very moving.

There is a slightly weird thing that happens in that, because I'm the person who has thrown open the floor, people start telling their anecdotes to me, rather than the room. It makes me feel like a television news reporter - the ones you see deliberately nodding as their interviewee speaks.

The other thing that I found was that I took on an awful lot more emotion than I was expecting. I had never known the deceased, and although she seemed like a very nice person and I liked her children and partner, I wasn't expecting to feel any more emotional involvement than I feel at other ceremonies.

Yet, after hearing all of these stories and recollections, many said through tears, when I returned to my folder for the concluding words, I struggled to get through them. I had to take a deep breath, and hope that it sounded as though I needed to clear my throat, rather than fighting tears of my own.

It's almost hypocritical to get upset about the death of a stranger, and yet, is it? This was a young(ish) person who seemed like one of the good guys. During ceremonies we often talk about our connections with others - the "no man is an island" idea, so perhaps I just got a bit upset because the bell was tolling for us all, and that I was sharing the sadness that these apparently good people were feeling?

Or maybe it was body chemistry, adrenaline dissipating as the relief that it had gone okay was starting to kick in. Whatever it was, I got through it, stayed as short a time as was decent (I didn't want to feel like Banquo's Ghost), and made my way home via a shop that sold delicious but not healthy food (see note above about climbing hills).

And of course, it wasn't over then, as there was the delicate matter of my fee. After all, no FD had been involved to pass me a little brown envelope in a pseudo-masonic handshake. I resolved this by sending them a copy of the words that I had said at both venues, and including a list of contributors and including an invoice in the envelope. The good people paid straight away - what a relief!

Of course, for me it's now all over; my papers are shreddedand my electronic file is archived. For them, it's a whole new reality and one that they don't want.

Love and peace to all.