(no subject)
Today was my Grandfather's funeral and it was beautiful but also really awful. For one thing there was the viewing session at 10am where they had placed the open coffin before the chapel altar. Mum and her two sisters were allowed in first while the rest of us all waited back to give them their own time and space. It was hard standing in the waiting room near the glass doors leading into the chapel because I could see right up towards where my grandfather's chocolate brown and gold coffin lay and I could see his long nose poking up out of it. I wasn't scared but it was really hard to see my Aunt Debbie come running out in a frantic fit of crying. She collapsed in the hallway just behind me. It was awful.
Eventually my Aunt Tracey came out to bring all of us cousins in to see our Grandfather and I walked towards him, unafraid of what I would see. I suppose it could have been freaky to be so close to a dead body but as I said to myself afterwards 'the worst thing that could have happened was that he would wake up, but then that would also be the happiest thing to have happened' so I wasn't scared a bit. So I went and I saw him, and I smiled to see him looking so peaceful. His skin was rather yellow but aside from that he looked more alive and real than my Nanna had. She looked like a porcelin doll who'd had her face punched in slightly. Poppa though looked peaceful and dignified. I was pleased.
I stood with him for as long as I could and committed his entire face to memory. I want to remember everything; his nose, his eyes, his mouth, his hands, his ears just everything. So I saw him and did everything I could to live up to his memory. I smiled at my Mum and told her that I thought Poppa looked like he was happy wherever he was. She sort of frowned at me as though she couldn't work out why I had said that but then I guess she doesn't read his face the same way that I do. He looked peaceful, like he was just asleep. My cousins Sam and Alex were in there with me and they both broke down in tears, I didn't know what to say to them so I didn't say a thing. I just stayed with my Poppa.
Half an hour later they were ushering us out but before I went I slipped a small scroll of silver-ribboned paper into my Poppa's hands and I made him promise to take them with him into the next world. Mum thought it was just a copy of my poem which I wrote for him but it was actually more than that; in three pages I had copied a poem for him, a poem for my Nanna and a big long letter where I told them all the things I had ever wanted to tell them. I said everything from how much I loved them and missed them to thanking them for all the things they had ever done for me. I even signed it myself with a pen. Mum and my Aunt Tracey nearly started to cry again when they saw what I was doing, I think Mum even did tbh. I remember my Aunt Tracey jokingly said 'damn kids, the things they do that make us cry' .
Afterwards we left and Dad brought me home for a couple of hours. I spent it forcing myself to eat something (toasted sandwich, I hadn't eaten breakfast at all, couldn't stomach it) and at 2pm we arrived for the ceremony. I saw the beautiful red roses that were to sit on his coffin and they were so lovely. I sniffed them and smiled appreciatively; knowing that he always did love such deep red roses and that years ago before his stroke he had grown them in his garden. He used to grow roses better than anybody I ever knew. I'm going to ask Mum if I might have some of the red roses tomorrow because they have so many and I love them so much. She'll let me I know, her house is drowning in flowers but aside from daffodils I picked from the garden we haven't got anything here.
The ceremony started and my Nanna's brother John Duffin was elected as the minister. He did a beautiful job as always and it just made the whole funeral ceremony so personal and intimate. It began with an introduction to see who was there and who had come from where. Then there was a short introduction into my Poppa's life and a very short memory recollection. The lodge masons came dressed in their official 'masons' uniform and they did their ceremony with the white apron and the evergreen sprig. It was really interesting to watch and I wished in my heart that I wasn't a girl and could be a freemason too someday. I love the idea of fellowship and secret rituals, of uniform and honor. Pity though. Anyway after them there were some personal reflections from guests in the audience. An American man who worked with my Grandfather in the Airforce told us a story of how he remembered my Poppa and how good he was at his work. How he always 'caught the villan' and had an eye that noticed all the small details, he was a man that always noticed when a desk wasn't tidy or protocol lol. Apparently he was quoted as saying 'not in my Airforce!' as a joke. It made us all laugh and smile.
Then my Mum came up with my Aunty Debbie to do their speeches. Debbie's was very short but it was funny and true and everybody laughed (Poppa tricked her into counting roof nails) and then Mum gave the official Eulogy which was her usual good standard. I was so proud of her. I kept staring into her eyes and willing her to continue each time she reached a pause and battled against tears. She didn't cry until she finished so she did really well. Just as she finished I began to feel so very sick in my stomach from nerves because I knew from the programme that my poem was to be recited next and sure enough Uncle John let everybody know who I was and that I had actually written the poem, that it wasn't just something I had collected off the internet. Alot of people at the back made that stereotypical 'wow awesome, I'm really shocked' kind of sounds while I collected myself and came to the podium, smiling but all the while shaking like a leaf inside and feeling as though I was about to be sick all over the chapel's dark pink carpet.
The weirdest thing happened the minute my hands touched the podium though. Suddenly my back went very tall and straight, I could feel the muscles working like crazy and the sickness in my stomach was replaced by a feeling of strength, love and power. When I do speeches even to a very small table of people this never happens, I always stay sick until the very last sentence. This time I just felt like I was somebody else, like I wasn't in control. It was; and I will take whatever criticism people want to give me for this, it was like my Grandfather had already read the private letter as I was typing it up last night where I had asked him to help me because I knew how difficult it was to read hand-written lines to an audience of mourners who cry at the slightest mention of my Poppa. I felt like he was inside my back and heart and that he led me up onto the podium. I genuinely smiled to my Uncle John and laughed when he asked if I wanted my Mum to stand with me. I jokingly said 'I'm 21, its all good. I can do this'. Wow... confidence much? I was a semi-weeping wreck at my Nanna's funeral.
So I got to the podium and I straightened out my paper with the words typed on it and I tilted my head up like I was proud of who I was and that I knew what I was doing (not in an arrogant way though, relax) and I took a look at everyone's faces and I grinned at them all like I was honestly happy. I didn't even need to take a deep breath I just got on with it. So I started 'To my Poppa' and went through every single line perfectly! I never cried, I never stopped being as happy and I didn't feel sick until the very last line was finished and I stood back to take the applause. Everybody loved it, even people I didn't know. Everyone was shocked that I had written it myself and that it sounded like something a professional would have written, not just a granddaughter for her grandfather's funeral. It was a success and I have a feeling that was when my Grandfather left me to my own devices. He was probably smiling from wherever he was, maybe even crying from pride. I don't know. I hope so.
Afterwards my Uncle John gave his own personal recollection of my Grandfather than we walked out to the song 'Smile' by Nat King Cole. If you haven't heard this song then you should, because it's classic and truly amazing. It summed my Grandfather up so much. In fact aha ---> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EXUYO7NpcEU No excuses now! Click! It's beautiful honestly. The funeral company escourted the coffin out towards the funeral van which took him away to the crematorium. I remember standing there in the rain, I made sure I was close to my Mum as she was furthest away from the chapel doors and it struck me that she was probably the most upset. So I stood beside her and together we watched it go. Just before it disappeared and I felt a tea tickling my eyes so I repeated 'purple monkey dishwasher' in my head repeatedly until I felt it retreat and I was okay.
I stood in that rain for awhile, talking to people as they came up to me. Smiling and thanking them politely whenever they mentioned my poem and how lovely it had been, and how clever I was to have written it. I was one of the last few to go inside. It was hard inside but somehow I weathered it through and by 5pm I was sitting at Mum's for the wake. It was tricky talking to so many people but I got through it and in the end the wake wasn't so bad, though the whole time I felt myself smiling but like the song smile my heart was breaking. I've been home now for awhile and I've one good cry on the loungeroom steps which felt good. All dry-eyed and okay now though but it still hurts alot inside especially since I want to just reach out and hug him so much and I can't. So now I have 1 grandmother left of all my grandparents and she's in Melbourne, and I feel bad for saying this because I do love her but she isn't the same as my Mum's parents who were my favourites and especially nothing like the Grandfather we farewelled today who was my most favourite of all. He was my favourite relative in the whole entire world and he's gone. That hurts.
Eventually my Aunt Tracey came out to bring all of us cousins in to see our Grandfather and I walked towards him, unafraid of what I would see. I suppose it could have been freaky to be so close to a dead body but as I said to myself afterwards 'the worst thing that could have happened was that he would wake up, but then that would also be the happiest thing to have happened' so I wasn't scared a bit. So I went and I saw him, and I smiled to see him looking so peaceful. His skin was rather yellow but aside from that he looked more alive and real than my Nanna had. She looked like a porcelin doll who'd had her face punched in slightly. Poppa though looked peaceful and dignified. I was pleased.
I stood with him for as long as I could and committed his entire face to memory. I want to remember everything; his nose, his eyes, his mouth, his hands, his ears just everything. So I saw him and did everything I could to live up to his memory. I smiled at my Mum and told her that I thought Poppa looked like he was happy wherever he was. She sort of frowned at me as though she couldn't work out why I had said that but then I guess she doesn't read his face the same way that I do. He looked peaceful, like he was just asleep. My cousins Sam and Alex were in there with me and they both broke down in tears, I didn't know what to say to them so I didn't say a thing. I just stayed with my Poppa.
Half an hour later they were ushering us out but before I went I slipped a small scroll of silver-ribboned paper into my Poppa's hands and I made him promise to take them with him into the next world. Mum thought it was just a copy of my poem which I wrote for him but it was actually more than that; in three pages I had copied a poem for him, a poem for my Nanna and a big long letter where I told them all the things I had ever wanted to tell them. I said everything from how much I loved them and missed them to thanking them for all the things they had ever done for me. I even signed it myself with a pen. Mum and my Aunt Tracey nearly started to cry again when they saw what I was doing, I think Mum even did tbh. I remember my Aunt Tracey jokingly said 'damn kids, the things they do that make us cry' .
Afterwards we left and Dad brought me home for a couple of hours. I spent it forcing myself to eat something (toasted sandwich, I hadn't eaten breakfast at all, couldn't stomach it) and at 2pm we arrived for the ceremony. I saw the beautiful red roses that were to sit on his coffin and they were so lovely. I sniffed them and smiled appreciatively; knowing that he always did love such deep red roses and that years ago before his stroke he had grown them in his garden. He used to grow roses better than anybody I ever knew. I'm going to ask Mum if I might have some of the red roses tomorrow because they have so many and I love them so much. She'll let me I know, her house is drowning in flowers but aside from daffodils I picked from the garden we haven't got anything here.
The ceremony started and my Nanna's brother John Duffin was elected as the minister. He did a beautiful job as always and it just made the whole funeral ceremony so personal and intimate. It began with an introduction to see who was there and who had come from where. Then there was a short introduction into my Poppa's life and a very short memory recollection. The lodge masons came dressed in their official 'masons' uniform and they did their ceremony with the white apron and the evergreen sprig. It was really interesting to watch and I wished in my heart that I wasn't a girl and could be a freemason too someday. I love the idea of fellowship and secret rituals, of uniform and honor. Pity though. Anyway after them there were some personal reflections from guests in the audience. An American man who worked with my Grandfather in the Airforce told us a story of how he remembered my Poppa and how good he was at his work. How he always 'caught the villan' and had an eye that noticed all the small details, he was a man that always noticed when a desk wasn't tidy or protocol lol. Apparently he was quoted as saying 'not in my Airforce!' as a joke. It made us all laugh and smile.
Then my Mum came up with my Aunty Debbie to do their speeches. Debbie's was very short but it was funny and true and everybody laughed (Poppa tricked her into counting roof nails) and then Mum gave the official Eulogy which was her usual good standard. I was so proud of her. I kept staring into her eyes and willing her to continue each time she reached a pause and battled against tears. She didn't cry until she finished so she did really well. Just as she finished I began to feel so very sick in my stomach from nerves because I knew from the programme that my poem was to be recited next and sure enough Uncle John let everybody know who I was and that I had actually written the poem, that it wasn't just something I had collected off the internet. Alot of people at the back made that stereotypical 'wow awesome, I'm really shocked' kind of sounds while I collected myself and came to the podium, smiling but all the while shaking like a leaf inside and feeling as though I was about to be sick all over the chapel's dark pink carpet.
The weirdest thing happened the minute my hands touched the podium though. Suddenly my back went very tall and straight, I could feel the muscles working like crazy and the sickness in my stomach was replaced by a feeling of strength, love and power. When I do speeches even to a very small table of people this never happens, I always stay sick until the very last sentence. This time I just felt like I was somebody else, like I wasn't in control. It was; and I will take whatever criticism people want to give me for this, it was like my Grandfather had already read the private letter as I was typing it up last night where I had asked him to help me because I knew how difficult it was to read hand-written lines to an audience of mourners who cry at the slightest mention of my Poppa. I felt like he was inside my back and heart and that he led me up onto the podium. I genuinely smiled to my Uncle John and laughed when he asked if I wanted my Mum to stand with me. I jokingly said 'I'm 21, its all good. I can do this'. Wow... confidence much? I was a semi-weeping wreck at my Nanna's funeral.
So I got to the podium and I straightened out my paper with the words typed on it and I tilted my head up like I was proud of who I was and that I knew what I was doing (not in an arrogant way though, relax) and I took a look at everyone's faces and I grinned at them all like I was honestly happy. I didn't even need to take a deep breath I just got on with it. So I started 'To my Poppa' and went through every single line perfectly! I never cried, I never stopped being as happy and I didn't feel sick until the very last line was finished and I stood back to take the applause. Everybody loved it, even people I didn't know. Everyone was shocked that I had written it myself and that it sounded like something a professional would have written, not just a granddaughter for her grandfather's funeral. It was a success and I have a feeling that was when my Grandfather left me to my own devices. He was probably smiling from wherever he was, maybe even crying from pride. I don't know. I hope so.
Afterwards my Uncle John gave his own personal recollection of my Grandfather than we walked out to the song 'Smile' by Nat King Cole. If you haven't heard this song then you should, because it's classic and truly amazing. It summed my Grandfather up so much. In fact aha ---> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EXUYO7NpcEU No excuses now! Click! It's beautiful honestly. The funeral company escourted the coffin out towards the funeral van which took him away to the crematorium. I remember standing there in the rain, I made sure I was close to my Mum as she was furthest away from the chapel doors and it struck me that she was probably the most upset. So I stood beside her and together we watched it go. Just before it disappeared and I felt a tea tickling my eyes so I repeated 'purple monkey dishwasher' in my head repeatedly until I felt it retreat and I was okay.
I stood in that rain for awhile, talking to people as they came up to me. Smiling and thanking them politely whenever they mentioned my poem and how lovely it had been, and how clever I was to have written it. I was one of the last few to go inside. It was hard inside but somehow I weathered it through and by 5pm I was sitting at Mum's for the wake. It was tricky talking to so many people but I got through it and in the end the wake wasn't so bad, though the whole time I felt myself smiling but like the song smile my heart was breaking. I've been home now for awhile and I've one good cry on the loungeroom steps which felt good. All dry-eyed and okay now though but it still hurts alot inside especially since I want to just reach out and hug him so much and I can't. So now I have 1 grandmother left of all my grandparents and she's in Melbourne, and I feel bad for saying this because I do love her but she isn't the same as my Mum's parents who were my favourites and especially nothing like the Grandfather we farewelled today who was my most favourite of all. He was my favourite relative in the whole entire world and he's gone. That hurts.