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I think I'd have been all bah-humbug about today if I hadn't had to go to a funeral, and thus been reminded that there are indeed worse things than the end of a relationship.
The funeral was for someone I hadn't met, but he was the partner of an old family friend so I went to be supportive of her and her youngest daughter. I've known them both since I was probably five or so. The family friend had basically nursed her partner through terminal cancer on her own for the last six months, and the stress of that was definitely showing, coming and going in waves as grief tends to do.
It wasn't a funeral, really, so much as a wake. There was a quiet reading and coffin viewing at the funeral parlour in Macksville, located on what's known colloquially as Snob Hill - partly because it has views out over the town and pastures beyond, and partly because it has the biggest, most suburban looking brick houses in town and that suburban feel is a status symbol. It's probably the only place other than a church for people to hold a funeral service in the valley, and this was the third time I'd been there. The first time was when my grandfather died, and the second was for the death of my high school best friend's grandfather. It was depressing today being there and thinking that perhaps there will come a time soon (relatively speaking) when I'm not just going there for people I've only had vague connections to.
After a short reading and a chance to see the coffin, we all drove out into the nearby state forest for a picnic. Ian, the man who died, had loved bushwalking and the group he walked with had done their very first walk together in there. It was a beautiful spot, with tall trees arching up to the sky, standing solemn guard over us. There seemed to be a group of semi-tame goannas (do they have their own collective noun, anyone?) who kept lumbering up towards our tables perhaps looking for food. They didn't get any, to my knowledge; if they eat mozzies there were certainly plenty of those around.
It was a quiet and peaceful way to say goodbye to someone. There were photos Ian had taken on various walking trips displayed, and people talked about him or caught up on each other's lives. Along with the sandwiches and wraps, they served ginger snaps, his favourite snack. As far as funerals go, I liked it - it remained true to the person who had died without becoming too sombre.
The funeral was for someone I hadn't met, but he was the partner of an old family friend so I went to be supportive of her and her youngest daughter. I've known them both since I was probably five or so. The family friend had basically nursed her partner through terminal cancer on her own for the last six months, and the stress of that was definitely showing, coming and going in waves as grief tends to do.
It wasn't a funeral, really, so much as a wake. There was a quiet reading and coffin viewing at the funeral parlour in Macksville, located on what's known colloquially as Snob Hill - partly because it has views out over the town and pastures beyond, and partly because it has the biggest, most suburban looking brick houses in town and that suburban feel is a status symbol. It's probably the only place other than a church for people to hold a funeral service in the valley, and this was the third time I'd been there. The first time was when my grandfather died, and the second was for the death of my high school best friend's grandfather. It was depressing today being there and thinking that perhaps there will come a time soon (relatively speaking) when I'm not just going there for people I've only had vague connections to.
After a short reading and a chance to see the coffin, we all drove out into the nearby state forest for a picnic. Ian, the man who died, had loved bushwalking and the group he walked with had done their very first walk together in there. It was a beautiful spot, with tall trees arching up to the sky, standing solemn guard over us. There seemed to be a group of semi-tame goannas (do they have their own collective noun, anyone?) who kept lumbering up towards our tables perhaps looking for food. They didn't get any, to my knowledge; if they eat mozzies there were certainly plenty of those around.
It was a quiet and peaceful way to say goodbye to someone. There were photos Ian had taken on various walking trips displayed, and people talked about him or caught up on each other's lives. Along with the sandwiches and wraps, they served ginger snaps, his favourite snack. As far as funerals go, I liked it - it remained true to the person who had died without becoming too sombre.
