Kev's big brother Keith died this month, we attended his funeral last friday, far too young. It was what you could call a nice due, the church was packed. I'm not really sad for me, there were plenty of people in that church who knew him much better than I , I am sad for him as he will miss his three grandchildren growing up, he did'nt even get the chance to eat jelly and cake at their first birthday parties.
He had his little oddities, but as the vicar listed his achievements ,you realised how much you had forgotten or never bother to acknowledge as he toiled away at his lot, but in the final listing you could see that here was a man who tried to make his mark, his priorities always seemed a little skewd to me but as I get older I realise that judgement is a pointless pass time, what do I know anyway?
Kev wanted to see it through to the end and view his body, to be supportive I got over my abdabs and went with him, it was a strange experience, his dad had said that he looked 'peaceful' but to me he just was'nt there.
Having seen 'him' made up and covered in a blue lacy shroud, we emerged into the street engaged in a really close and valuable discussion on death but mainly about organ donation; if your objection to donation is based around not wanting your body to be messed around with, we came to the conclusion that after having two lots of surgery, an autopsy , having your fluids replaced with embalming fluid and wearing your first and only face full of make up, any process to salvage your good bits would be a disgnified and constructive experience. I don't want to repeat the viewing experience, looking at the shell only seems to serve as un -necessary further proof that he is no longer with us, but it does propel me to the Organ Donor registration site to sign up.
The next shock was seeing his obituary in the Derbyshre Times. I read all the others around him and spared a thought for the lady who was childless, and the lady who died at forty years old with a two year old daughter.
Looking at his widow, his tiny frail octogenarian parents and his three sons was agony. She looks so tired and deserves a rest. As always with these things ,the worst bit was the crematorium and the dreaded 'curtains', the final let go, no going back from here onwards.
The curtains seemed to prompt my traumatised daughter to make a beeline for her Dad and gave him the tightest hug ever, I think maybe she suddenly realised that loosing her Dad was a real possibility just as her three cousins had just lost theirs.
Keith would have enjoyed his funeral, you could visualise him mingling and laughing, putting the world straight with that tone of mild outrage in his voice. Kev remebered that he would have to attend future funerals on his own from now on, they always used to go together.
It must be said that he was sometimes a bit odd, a bit difficult, and definatley very stubborn, but I think he always did the best as he saw it. As Derrick's poem said ' When he was young he was a bit of a lad, but he never once did anything that was nasty or bad.
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