Saturday, April 9, 2011
F is for Funeral Director
I remember the day he was born in the front bedroom of a tiny house in outer Manchester. I was four years old and I'd run all the way home from school as my grandmother had walked up the hill to tell me that I had a baby brother. On the sideboard was a large brown paper bag and I was convinced that he'd arrived in that. Now, here he is again, in a 21st century bag this time. And a lifetime has been and gone.
The emotions associated with mourning are confusing. Guilt, anger, sadness, regret, frustration - but also a host of happy memories. I know from experience that these feelings will settle down in time, and the painful images that keep me awake at night, of his last days in hospital, will eventually fade. It's not good to try to rush the process. I will be gentle with myself. 'For I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep...' (Robert Frost)