Spunk.
I remember thinking how glad I was that she was back in Melbourne, because it meant I'd see a lot more of her.
So, I'll concede that of all the funerals I've been to, Aveline's was the best. Of course I cried a lot; everyone seemed to, and it's understandable since it was a further sign that she's no longer with us.
(Though I told Liz my secret Aveline thoughts at the wake, and I don't know if it helped her but it helped me.)
But there was much laughter. There were lots of references to her enduring humour, and spirit, and plans for world domination. The recurring theme that wasn't her awesomeness was her penchant for discussing poisoning people. There was even dancing in the aisles at the end, and while I couldn't bring myself to dance while crying, I expect to never again be at a funeral where that happens.
I mentally apologised to her, actually. It's not uncommon for it to be said that the recently gone would not want their friends to be unhappy, to mourn them. With Aveline, I knew without a shadow of a doubt it to be true. But I couldn't help but miss her, and be devastated by her passing, even against her wishes.
So I've decided that everyone should feel bloody miserable when I die. In fact, I ban happiness. You all must be unable to raise a smile - I decree it.
The wake was a mini-Sodom and Gomorrah of exuberant dancing, drinking and minor acts of destruction. Oh, and some singing in the stairwell. It was, again, what she would have wanted, though I couldn't help but wish for a little more quiet so that I could talk more easily with people. Still, I was walking around with a pink furry monkey attached to my belt, so I happily concede to a lack of leg to stand on.
The loudness definitely helped in one way. It has been the quiet moments of the week where it hit home most forcefully. After adjusting to a lack of people, it was a bullet train of remembrance that reminded me of how much had been lost. It's why the pulling together, the spending time together - crying, reminiscing, talking about everything but and everything about - all of that was what made the week so amazing. I lost track of the number of conversations that involved, 'We should do this more often, under better circumstances.'
So Aveline, you are missed and mourned - but the amount of love you generated in passing is, well, about right for the amount you generated while alive.
So, I'll concede that of all the funerals I've been to, Aveline's was the best. Of course I cried a lot; everyone seemed to, and it's understandable since it was a further sign that she's no longer with us.
(Though I told Liz my secret Aveline thoughts at the wake, and I don't know if it helped her but it helped me.)
But there was much laughter. There were lots of references to her enduring humour, and spirit, and plans for world domination. The recurring theme that wasn't her awesomeness was her penchant for discussing poisoning people. There was even dancing in the aisles at the end, and while I couldn't bring myself to dance while crying, I expect to never again be at a funeral where that happens.
I mentally apologised to her, actually. It's not uncommon for it to be said that the recently gone would not want their friends to be unhappy, to mourn them. With Aveline, I knew without a shadow of a doubt it to be true. But I couldn't help but miss her, and be devastated by her passing, even against her wishes.
So I've decided that everyone should feel bloody miserable when I die. In fact, I ban happiness. You all must be unable to raise a smile - I decree it.
The wake was a mini-Sodom and Gomorrah of exuberant dancing, drinking and minor acts of destruction. Oh, and some singing in the stairwell. It was, again, what she would have wanted, though I couldn't help but wish for a little more quiet so that I could talk more easily with people. Still, I was walking around with a pink furry monkey attached to my belt, so I happily concede to a lack of leg to stand on.
The loudness definitely helped in one way. It has been the quiet moments of the week where it hit home most forcefully. After adjusting to a lack of people, it was a bullet train of remembrance that reminded me of how much had been lost. It's why the pulling together, the spending time together - crying, reminiscing, talking about everything but and everything about - all of that was what made the week so amazing. I lost track of the number of conversations that involved, 'We should do this more often, under better circumstances.'
So Aveline, you are missed and mourned - but the amount of love you generated in passing is, well, about right for the amount you generated while alive.