The Shape of Things To Come

The Raven, richardault, 2008

I've never been to a funeral before and I wish I could say I'd never have to go to another.

The day began by meeting the rest of the family over at my grandmother's house before the funeral cortège arrived to take us to the cemetery. As we waited I took a seat by the window when my eyes were drawn to her chair. So jarringly unoccupied it brought to mind the shot of Tiny Tim's empty seat in The Muppet Christmas Carol - the muppets did it best. If the chair was peculiarly vacant, the room and the house were even more so. The short drive to the crematorium was quietly sombre. As a grandson I was first with the rest of the family to enter. My mind was concentrated on trying to remain composed amid the audible grief of my mother, aunt and uncle. This was not the first time for them - my grandfather died five years before I was born. Whilst the hall filled my thoughts were drifting toward understanding the situation. When the coffin itself was carried in, trying to remain detached became infinitely harder - eyes drawn front and centre, staring at it. I didn't look at the service booklet because of the picture on the back page - photographs have become too disconcerting.

I have been accused of many things in my life, never an excess of emotion.
-Sarek, The Next Generation (3x23)

My mother had written a brief story of my grandmother's life which the minister read. It described her childhood including her own mother's death when she was young and becoming a surrogate mother to her younger siblings, her jobs in the community, marriage and children. There were many parts I didn't know. In 1986 she was staying in Australia for a number of months, possibly even settling. As the eldest grandchild I enter the story at this point, and she returns for my birth. When I could see how my own life wove into the context of another's it genuinely moved me. I couldn't remain detached. I welled up. I stared ahead unblinking, trying not to let a tear run down my face. I would have bit my tongue in half to avoid so obviously taking my glasses off. I quickly and subtly cleared my eyes at the end of the service before making my way with the rest of the family to the door to greet the attendees.

I shook hands for perhaps twenty minutes. Among the attendees was my paternal grandmother, who I hadn't realised would be there. After she had delivered her commiserations, it struck me square in the heart that this would not be the last funeral I'd endure. I came very close to breaking with that thought. Every August 1st for twenty-nine years, my mother and grandmother would visit the memorial garden where my grandfather's ashes were scattered. Because he died long before I was born, it was always a meaningless formality to me as a child. Now I know what it means, and I know I'll have to visit that garden as a meaningful formality.

Later as I lay down to take an afternoon nap, I wondered how the elderly cope with mortality. It terrifies me. Then it dawned on me that I wasn't thinking fourth-dimensionally. How I feel aged 23½ is not necessarily how I'll feel at the other end of this century. I'll take some solace in that.

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