In memory of John
We went to a friend's funeral this morning. So this post isn't going to be the usual silly-ha ha rubbish I usually churn out, but I don't want it to be entirely gloom and doom either, because that's not the overwhelming feeling I came home with.
John was the partner of Ian's older brother, Stuart. He died on December 10th of motor neurone disease, a rotten affliction that had been slowing him down for four years until it finally let him go.
I'd never been to a funeral before today of someone who was genuinely loved and cherished by many. I'd only been to my grandmother's, a dotty old bird who most of the family didn't get on with, and what few of us there were sat there sort of dutifully but with an element of palpable relief.
Today was entirely different. The crematorium was packed, every seat taken with young, handsome, lovely people. John was only 41. We followed the coffin inside and this upbeat dance music started to play, and you knew it was music he'd wanted, and you had to smile. Every reading glowed with John's zest for life, his wish that no one be sad for him, the message that finally he was free of this wretched illness that had had him in a wheelchair and unable to move or talk.
John charmed the pants off everyone he met, he tried everything, put 110% into everything, he partied and travelled and loved. He accepted his illness with incredible grace. He never bitched or got depressed. He genuinely believed he was still living life to the same full quality in a wheelchair as he would have done out of it. I just don't think I could be that cheery in the same situation. Even after he began to lose the ability to talk well, you could still catch his eye and share a silent joke at something you'd both overheard. John was ace.
Stuart, Ian's brother, was utterly amazing today. He had the incredible strength to stand up and talk about John to this packed building in a way that made everyone laugh and smile and remember John's appetite for life. Stuart, I know you read this sometimes. You're amazing and we love you. Come round for wine or tea or whatever else we can give you, as often as you want to, whatever the time is.
The hardest part of the day was seeing John's mother, Christina, walk up to the coffin after all the readings were over and lay a farewell red rose on it. Then she folded her arms on the coffin and rested her head there for a moment, all with such grace and dignity. I just broke down. It was such an intensely personal moment to witness: a mother saying a final farewell to her son, in front of a room full of people, some of whom she didn't even know.
My worst fears are losing Ian and Esme and it was a real wrench to see Stuart say goodbye to his partner and Christina to her child. I never take life for granted. I love the little family I have, and every morning I say "Mind how you go" to Ian, and really mean it, as if those four words will cast a protective veil around him to ensure he doesn't get knocked off his bike or blown up by cretinous religious extremists on the Underground. But today made me hold his hand a bit tighter, and come home and be extra-patient with Esme, and even refrain from telling the cat to **** off.
As we walked back from the crematorium, still sniffing and crying, past these huge, elegant, Georgian riverfront houses, I thought about the people who live there. They must see clouds of sombrely dressed, weeping people drifting past whenever they look out of the window.
We cried. We laughed. We had a bit too much glorious, warming wine in the pub. Then we came home, and stared into space feeling a bit afterwards and spacious in the ribs, hot around the eyes and washed-out in the sinuses while Esme galloped around all pleased to see us again and eventually brought us back to life. More importantly, we felt we'd seen a shining example of how to live and be remembered.
So! Message for today is to go out and have FUN. Party hard. Make love until the earth moves, even if it's just with yourself. Try new food. Roll around in it. Give your kids a big squeeze and a tickle and tell them you love them, especially if they're all grown up and deeply embarrassed by that kind of thing.
We're going to live life to the full just that little bit more by going to Devon for the weekend. Hell yeah! Nothing like a grey, out-of-season coastal town full of people in beige coats to rrrreally make you feel like you're in the fast lane.
We're only here for a bit, chaps. Make more of it.
Whoopee,
http://yetanotherbloomingblog.blogsp...y-of-john.html