So, On We Go

Gremlins visited yesterday and after a long time on the phone with techie support in the evening, and giving things a chance to naturally re-set overnight, hopefully, this post will go out and all will be well. I apologise for taking your time yesterday with a few false starts.

A lot is happening in all our lives and hopes and plans are shifting, sometimes in an instant. Events on the world stage are causing much concern, and in our daily lives, stress, anxiety and worry are the root of some sharp choices. So, on we go, as we adjust and adapt.

For many reasons, sometimes a life story is short and I flow in with loving thoughts during a funeral ceremony. This week, one loving thoughts piece was about a lady's life philosophy learned at infant school, ending with the words, 'No matter how old we are, it is best to stick together, and when we go out, to hold hands.'

Respect and privacy are loving guidelines for how we behave when organising funerals, but there have been moments that have lifted everyone present and I hope they lift you too. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

A dear, petite lady came up to me after a ceremony this week.

'I am sure that was a lovely ceremony,' she said.

'Could you hear me?' I asked.

'Not a word.'

This is a strong community; they all know each other, and having spoken with a few mourners, a whole street was there to pay their respects. I failed to notice a few chaps struggling to hide their amusement.

'I am so sorry.' I replied.

Her eyes were twinkling.

'Do they have trouble with their sound system here?'

'Not that I am aware of, but I will check,' I replied.

I asked her name, and how she knew the lovely lady we had just held a ceremony for, and we chatted for a while.

As she turned to leave, she commented.

'I haven't been able to hear a word from any of the funerals I have been to recently.'

The chaps around us were struggling to contain themselves, and I became aware of their shaking shoulders.

This dear soul walked away, after we had hugged, and then delivered her parting line.

'It might help if I wore my hearing aids.'

The next story is a salutary lesson to double-check other people's interpretation of words.

A wonderful mum had passed away and her husband, six adult children, their partners, and many grandchildren, great-grandchildren, nieces and nephews, and friends gathered to honour her. A loving ceremony had been written and shared around the family to ensure everything felt balanced to them all before the day.

After the ceremony, I stood with her eldest son, as we chatted. He took a deep breath and said,

'I'd better go and chat, Jane. I'll start with Uncle Fred.'

'Hang on a minute, do you mean your Mum's brother Fred? I said, quickly.

'Yes, he's standing over there.'

'You mean Uncle Fred that I just said was in spirit and reunited with your Mum? That Uncle Fred?'

He fully turned and faced me, turning pale.

'Yes, that Uncle Fred.'

I started to go pale.

'Your Mum's other brothers and sisters, are they also here?' There were eight of them in the family.

'They're all here.' He whispered.

I said their names.

He nodded.

'I named them all in the Remembrance section and said they were all together again, reunited in spirit.'

He came out with a squeak, followed by,

'Everyone read your whole ceremony, Jane and none of us picked this up.'

I said, 'Don't worry about that now. So, when we met, and it was mentioned that they had all 'gone', what did that mean?'

'Oh, they had all moved away.' He answered.

'I should have double-checked. This one is so on me!'

We both stood for a few minutes, chuckling.

'We'd better start praying that no one was listening.' I said.

We hugged and he walked over to chat to his hale and hearty uncles and aunts.

We'll leave the parting shot to our funeral director, who has a finely developed sense of humour and loves to tease,

'Don't worry Jane, no one listens to a word you say.'

🩷