The Dismissal

Yesterday was by far the most difficult day of my life. The day of the funeral had finally arrived and I wasn't prepared for the constant sadness that is a day of mourning. All night, at work, I was wiping away tears, telling myself every 10 minutes to stay strong. For Grandma.

I knew it was going to be tough. I knew there were going to be tears and procedure but I never really was expecting the, almost Hollywood funeral that came. We, the close family, roughly 9 of us, convened at Grandma's outdated yet beautifully arranged bungalow and waited. A few tears were already rolling down my Mother's cheeks and that is the main thing that sets me off. It hadn't even started yet. I had a stroll round the bungalow myself. I went into rooms that I didn't even know existed, with my Uncle, (Grandma's only Son), and he showed me the photographs that Grandma always kept. From 20, 30, 40, 50 years ago. Every single one kept in this dusty, old room. So many memories. So many anecdotes. There was a cold feel to the room, like the room knew someone had left it.

We waited, talked and stood in silence begging for the day to start and end without trouble. 20 minutes we waited, until it arrived. The hurse and the flowers and the car. All in black, except the wooden coffin with colourful flowers comforting it as it drifted towards us. I tried to fight back tears, under the guidance of Dad who told me to "stay strong". Words I repeated to myself all day and all night. Stay strong. The funeral-man, (I don't know his official title), expressed his condolensces in his soft Irish accent and we climbed into the car. We left, at the speed of a snail, behind Grandma. The man in the long tail-coat walked ahead as a funeral procession commenced. After a short walk, the man with the tail-coat got into the hurse and we started our long and painful journey to the crematorium. In absolute silence. The deafening silence, no one uttered a word. I could only stare out of the window, thinking that this surreal event couldn't be happening. Passers by stopped, stared seemingly straight at me with faces of sadness. It seemed as if everyone knew what was going on. That journey, despite only lasting 10 minutes seemed more like 10 hours. It was incredibly painful.

We finally reached the crematorium. The same place my Grandad had his funeral 15 years ago. I was too young to remember. Too young to attend. This was my first funeral, and it suddenly dawned on me that I didn't know what was happening. What to do. What if they asked me to say a few words, I had nothing prepared. Do we carry the coffin in? Do we stand and watch? What? Luckily, the man with the tail-coat directed us inside, after all the other guests had filed in. Looking in our direction, just as everyone on the streets during that journey had done. I recognised a few faces, but not many. Distant relatives and friends. And a few professional funeral go-ers. We stood inside, and watched as Grandma was carried inside, past us through to the crematorium where she would sit for the service. We were then asked to walk behind it. Walk past the seated audience. This was the worst part. Walking behind, with the sad music louder to the ears than screaming, walking past people with tears strolling down your face. It was almost as if you were walking towards your own death. It was terrible.

As we sat for the service, I had the feeling that I couldn't do it. I couldn't sit there and listen to the vicar ending the soul of the woman who once had so much life about her and was the kindest, sweetest person that a grandson could hope for. The service progressed, with prayers said and hymns half-sung, but I couldn't even speak. I was choked. This was impossible.

The end of the service came. Again, I didn't quite know what to expect. The vicar stood down from his podium and more organ music blared out. The vicar stood and said a few loud words, over the music and the curtain started to close. The final glimpse of Grandma. It was almost unbearable. Uncontrollable emotion, wanting it to end. The curtain closed and I could see my Mum ahead of me, shaking with sadness. That was it. The end. The curtain had quite literally closed, on a remarkable life.

The rest of the day was filled with memories and a few last-minute tears and meeting a few relatives I barely knew. We went to a local pub for a few drinks and sandwiches and reminisced. I didn't want to be there. I was still in shock at what had just happened and how I had reacted. I knew I had to go to work that night aswell, so was desperate to go home and have my own space. People asked what I was doing with my life, and I half-answered them and didn't bother listening to their patronising responses. I felt sick.

When I finally got home, I went straight upstairs and lay under my covers, in darkness, and cried so much, as silently as I could. I cried for hours. I pretended to be asleep whenever I thought someone was coming in, but I couldn't. I just cried...

Part of me was happy to go to work. Keeping occupied and busy despite the day's events. Part of me was disgusted at the fact I had to endure yet another 8 hours of The Wall's incandescent failure as a human being. However, tonight he was fairly .. well.. good. I told him about the day I had and he was fairly understanding about it all. He even pulled off a couple of risky jokes, not about the funeral or my day, but just in general. He was a different person today, and for the first time in a long time, I actually enjoyed my night at work. I stood and reflected a couple of times but the shift was generally too busy to sit and ponder. Today, is a new day. And life must go on.

My Grandma was a special person. She was loving and kind and, as was pointed out today so many times, her passion for knitting was just uncanny. Haha. Ohh, the memories. Even if a loved one is lost, you will never lose the memories. And of those, I have a plenty.

R.I.P x