- Woody Allen
I have yet another funeral to attend on Friday. Yes, it seems that I have reached that age where I am attending more funerals than weddings. Quite frankly, Id rather go to a funeral.
I dont do death well. By this I mean, I dont cry hysterically for days or lay in bed for days depressed. Although I have questioned from time to time why. Yes, I do cry eventually. It will hit me a week later, maybe even a month and the tears will fall for a few minutes or maybe even an hour but mostly Im about the stiff upper lip, keep calm and carry on kinda gal.
My first memory of death was my father's mother. She was a marvellous woman if not a little scary at times. I was 10 when she died and I was pulled out of my class at school and told the awful news by my mother as she collected me and took me home. The fearless, untouchable women who once yelled at the chap who owned the local shop because Id complained that my chocolate bar tasted funny and she was convinced the thing had gone off, had had a heart attack and then she was gone. I wasn't quite sure how I should be feeling so I didn't. No one said it was ok to to cry or not ok to cry. By the time I got home and saw just what a state my father was in, I guess I didn't want to be an inconvenient, blubbering mess and my mother had her hands full trying to get him to eat, hell even speak, so I just went to my room and played with my toys as I would any other normal day.
Since then Ive lost a great many family members (we are a rather large family) and my composure and inner serenity sometimes even astounds me. Over the years it has horrified, even offended some but this is just what I do. Two years ago I lost my last surviving grandmother who I was ridiculously close to and still I went to work and just "got on with it." The company offered me time off, which I declined. They just couldn't understand why I didn't wanna go home for a few days. Actually it got bloody annoying being asked all the time "Are you ok?" Even now, I don't feel sad when I think of her. To me she is still in her chair, in the corner of her living room playing bingo on her laptop and complaining about that TV chef (Ainsley Harriott) who touches the food with his fingers too much.
Maybe you could say that I choose to privately grieve or even that words are my tears. I have always had a diary or some kind of blog for my adolescent and adult life and I always feel it is respectful to document in some way shape or form, the person's passing. Even if you cant find the words yourself, the internet is a wonderful thing and you can easily find a poem or a quote that touches you and that you can share.
So these are my tears Uncle Ernie. These are shed here for you.
