Seeing the same old faces

A couple of months ago, I mentioned that I had been to the hospital to visit the son of a "deceased". Now, I've had a call to do the son's funeral. This was not a young man - he was a grandfather, so we don't have the tragedy of a life cut too far short (although, don't tell his family that - I'm sure they'd have liked a few years). No, this is more a sadness from seeing a family grieving again, before the previous sorrow has had a chance to work its course. What was particulalry interesting is that it appears that my perception of the gent was way off. I had him down as an elegant, educated man (posh accent, you see - fools me every time). Yet, he was not as he seemed, being more likely (through both choice and circumstances) to shop at Oxfam than Saville Row. He was by no means unintelligent, but not the bookish type that I had thought. From the different family members that I've spoken to, it appears that he gave different impressions to those much closer to him, too. I've got to weave a path which enables everyone to recognise the person that they knew, while getting over the contradictions. The danger with these types of ceremonies, is that they are a little distant, as I can't get to the true "essence" of the man. But if he was an enigma, then perhaps that was his essence. It's unlikely that I'll ever know for sure.

I know I shouldn't laugh....

... and I didn't at the time. But this has made me smile, since.

I was talking to a lady about her Dad - the lady was telling me that he was very good at keeping his personal records etc in order, despite difficulties.

"He'd struggled at school, you see - he was anorexic."



Does that mean that he couldn't even eat his words?