16th September. It's been 10 days since you died. Not your fault you died on a Friday but the fact that two weekends have passed between your death and your funeral hasn't gone down well in some quarters. I don't think Dad has dragged his heels on purpose.
I was in the dining room waiting for you to arrive but, much like that phone call from the hospital, it seems I wasn't quite prepared for it when it happened. Of course you know there's going to be a hearse with a box inside but when it pulls up outside your house and you realise it's not going past but stopping because it's got your mum inside then it's different. I almost wanted to open the lid and check you were actually in there. Is that weird?
The flowers looked nice. Autumnal colours as we'd planned to reflect the month of your death and the shade of your hair (dyed, I know but who's telling?). Oh, and some hops as a nod to your East Sussex upbringing. You would probably have thought it was all a waste of money, particularly the coffin. Don't worry, we didn't pick the most expensive one. We didn't pick the cheapest either, mind you. Couldn't quite go that far, not even for you.
As the man in black walked slowly in front of you a little way up the road I wondered how I should be feeling.
The cremation was ok, I think. We'd met a minister who none of us knew and who didn't know you but was happy to conduct an essentially non-Christian service. Dad couldn't quite handle zero religion so I think one hymn crept in but I hope you would have approved. We wore normal clothes as you'd asked and it was like some sort of family reunion. I even went up to one of my cousins and remarked how I hadn't seen them in ages. How ridiculously inappropriate! Some other cousins were in pieces but I suppose that's because they hadn't seen you for a while. That made it worse for them. It was easier for us. We had relief to fall back on. We were glad that your suffering was over. Happy, even, to see you at peace. They were left with good old fashioned grief. I can't say I didn't cry though. When I did, G's dad had to tell him to hug me. Told you he wasn't very good at this stuff.
Your 'Bun', played the organ. I don't think she really wanted to but Dad insisted. As your oldest friend it was important that she played a part and it was lovely. Family and old friends were there in the main. The music system chucked out Wind Beneath My Wings on the way in and You Were Always on my Mind (the Elvis version of course not the Pet Shop Boys) on the way out. Or was it the other way round? I can't remember. You were right, Elvis really was the King!
I say 'I think' the cremation was ok because I can't remember much about what was said or what happened. I do remember the bit where the curtains closed because I just wanted to jump up, run the those curtains, rip them apart and grab you to take you home. My brain couldn't quite believe that it wasn't some elaborate joke and that you weren't about to fling open the top of the coffin, sit up and shout, "Surprise! I'm not really dead!!"
I read a poem by the way. My knees were shaking but I read it. Without crying.
