A difficult week

I don’t normally write about personal stuff on here, and I didn’t know whether to blog about this or not. This week however, I do feel the need to write about more emotional stuff.

My uncle died last weekend. He was my mum’s brother, and he was 91, so you can’t be too sad, as he had a good, and full life, remaining active until relatively recently.

The funeral was yesterday, and to be honest, I was dreading it. I hate funerals, and have been to very few, but those I’ve been to have been of close family, and all bar one have been at the same church. I find it difficult to go back there, as both sets of grandparents, and my mum and dad are also buried there.

It’s also in the village where I grew up. I may have kicked its dust off my heels many years ago, but you never lose that connection. I could drive up the lane to the village on automatic pilot, I know it so well. The village never changes. Going into the church feels odd, as I spent so much of my childhood round and about it. I remember climbing up the bell tower with my dad, as he used to wind the clock, running round the pews with my mum when she was doing the flowers – the flower stands were actually bought by me and my cousins when we did a bring and buy sale at the age of about 14. Even many of the kneelers were embroidered by family members. Many people know me, even though I can’t recall who a lot of them are, and to them I will always be ‘Valerie’, never ‘Val’. In my head, it’s like they’re two different people.

I knew the only way to get through the day was to prepare like I was preparing for a performance. I knew I would cry, but I wanted to be as controlled as possible. If I had any faith at all, perhaps it might be easier, but I haven’t, and therefore the words give me no comfort. I managed it until the vicar was giving the address. It didn’t help that I’ve never liked him, as I’ve never found him to have a personal touch.

The worst bit was afterwards. My aunt was too frail to go to the graveside. So that left me, and a couple of others. By that point I wasn’t holding it together at all, but thankfully, my cousin appeared and just gave me a hug. Sometimes the comfort of strangers isn’t enough.

After that, we went back into the church, where they were serving refreshments, and I found myself talking to relatives I hadn’t seen for years. I do find it bizarre that people will turn out for a funeral, and don’t turn out to see people when they’re still around to appreciate it.