Well, I’m sorry if anyone’s breath was bated, but I’ve not updated on the saga of Margaret!
It got far worse before it got better.
As always, when there are problems between people, it’s usually due to poor communication and that’s exactly what happened. I thought that Jemima had agreed some stuff with the rev, so I was talking to him about them and he started getting a bit upset, as though I was hi-jacking his funeral.
In the end I did my usual (apologised until I was prostrate, although that doesn’t work so well over the phone) and bowed down to his every request – it is his gig. I was getting very upset about it all, as I wanted to try and ease some of the agro for Jemima, but in the end I was just piggy in the middle and it got to the point where if I was relaying a message from the rev to Jemima and she was upset about it, I ended up having to say “then I’m really sorry, but I think that’s something you’ll have to discuss with him directly”. I felt dreadful.
My main learn from this (and I hope not to be in this situation again) is that I shouldn’t go and see the family until after they’ve seen the minister. He can then lay out the ground rules and I can work within them. The problem was we were saying a lot of “if he’s okay about it, we’ll do this” which only led to disappointment when he wasn’t okay about it.
However, once we actually got to the day, we were all fine. I hadn’t slept all week and was as nervous as I have ever been about speaking in public, but the church was packed (a good 200 – 250 people there, I reckon). I got up to deliver the eulogy and started crying with my first words, but once I’d said the first paragraph, my voice came back and I was able to get them all laughing and crying, just as we’d planned.
I am a very insecure person (many people with blogs are – unless we have something useful to impart to the world, we’re just spouting on screen to justify our existence) but I made the mistake of going to the wake afterwards. Now, even if I hadn’t been speaking at the funeral I would have gone to it, and gone to the “after”, but this reminded me why I never usually do.
Margaret had lived with a chap for over 10 years, but things had ended acrimoniously. When I saw her children, I asked if they wanted him mentioned. “No” was the definite answer from them both. So I didn’t.
Now, lots of people (I lost count, but easily 50 and probably nearer 100) came up to me at the wake and told me that I’d done a great job, that they had liked what I’d said, that they thought I’d captured Margaret well. However, the chap approached me, said “over 10 years I lived with her” and walked off. I was beside myself. I was crying, I put down my food (those who know me realise just how much a sign of upset that is!), I was ready to walk out there and then. Thankfully friends and folks I knew managed to rally me, but I was devastated for days afterwards.
It possibly didn’t help that I was drinking alcohol. I’m not a drinker as a rule, and haven’t touched the stuff for months. When you’re like that, it’s really not a good idea to down a vodka at 1pm, and then move onto cider. I stayed at the wake for another half an hour or so, but I really just wanted to be elsewhere, so I walked along the road, ringing my beloved to come and pick me up, while snivelling.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“No.”
“What’s up?” (He’d already spoken to me since the funeral, due to a confusing arrangement with cars and lifts, so he knew that the eulogy had gone all right)
“I’m very tired and emotional”.
I could just imagine the look of joy on his face as he contemplated coming to get me. Upset and drunk – what a delight!
So this is one of the reasons why I never go to the wake. I hope not to make a mistake, but if I do, apart from being more attentive to detail next time, what is to be gained? Although the more I thought about it, the less upset and more cross I got. After all, I had done what Margaret’s daughters had asked, and they were happy with what I’d said. Also, this guy had been involved in a legal wrangle over insurance money from the disease that eventually killed Margaret. I’ve got to live with the fact that I’ve upset him. He’s got to live with a bit more.
On the subject of mistakes,
I did the ceremony of a person who, in the words of their daughter had been a “fantastic, brilliant person....and a dreadful parent”. With that in mind, I arranged to send the eulogy part of the ceremony to said daughter, so that she could check factual details (I always like to check, where I can), but also to make sure that she was happy with the tone of what I had written.
On the day of the funeral, after the ceremony, the daughter thanked me, but told me that I’d made a mistake, as I’d got the name of her sister’s husband wrong. I felt awful, apologised profusely, apologised to the sister (who seemed the most upset about it) and apologised to the husband (who claimed not to have noticed).
This was on my mind as I drove back home (the crematorium is over an hour away). About half an hour into my journey, a thought occurred to me - the daughter had sent the eulogy back to me and, apart from a couple of minor edits (extra punctuation for delivery, that sort of thing), I cut and paste it from her email into the words!
It was one of those silly moments, where I felt like ringing her up and saying “hang on a minute, love, do you realise.....”
Obviously, I didn’t, and I know that I still made the mistake in the first place, but at least I stopped beating myself up about it.
I’ll try not to leave it so long between posts next time. Goodness – what does it say that I’m beginning to feel guilty about not justifying my existence so often?
On second thoughts, that is a rhetorical question.
