The kind of "suddenly" that has the police walking up your path and knocking at your door to inform you "suddenly". The "We need you to identify the body" suddenly.
Our father was terminally ill and incapacitated (he left us only months after Mum). As such my sister and I entered a world of "arrangements" that were directly foreign to us: death certificates and autopsies, diversions and decisions...
We sat down with the funeral director to organise the service itself and I curbed my tongue for the most part as he, with all the sweetness and sympathy of a well trained salesman, showed us through coffin brochures and flower arrangements.
I was opting for a cheaper coffin. My sister was leaning toward the fully upholstered, satin lined, Latvian Orthodox version at which the gentleman was nodding understandingly (chi-ching).
I was forced to remind Linda that we were only going to look at it for 30 minutes then its permanently in the dirt (don't start me on the burial choice!) which was met with the director's disapproving frown. My practicality was plainly eating into his commission.
Linda broke into discussion with a friend and I took the time to grab the director's attention...
"At the cemetery..."
"Yes, Ms Hocking?"
"Could you please throw glitter into the actual grave prior to our arrival?"
He sat back and stared at me, his shock clear upon his face. "Well I can honestly say I've never heard this before." He replied with a smile. "Any way in particular?..."
The service at the church complete, the procession had arrived for the graveside service, and my young children and I lead the congregation to the graveside.
My children and my niece, my mother's grandchildren, were young: 8, 6, 4 and 4 years old. As we walked down the funeral director approached me (he had realized at this stage I wasn't lacking compassion, I was just on good terms with "death".)
"I have four balloons for the children to release during the service." he whispered.
I was concerned, "I don't know...it would be better if you had eight. Could you summon another four? It would work better if they got a keeper each too."
"Ah...no. I just got four..."
The service began.
It was summer in Australia: the light bright and brilliant and warm.
As we stood beside the grave, my mother cradled upon it, our hearts once heavy, lightened as we looked down:
The very walls of the freshly cut earth of the grave sparkled. The light caught upon the glitter sending coloured shards, dazzling and divine from the earth itself. It was spectacular.
The funeral director leaned in and said, "That is amazing! What made you think of it?"
"I needed my children, my family to see my mother going into light, not into a cold, dark abyss."
"Of course." he smiled,"Do you mind if we use that from now on? I have a child's funeral tomorrow..."
The kids to their delight were then handed the balloons and upon the closure of prayer invited to release them. None of them wanted to let go of their balloon. Would you when you were 6?
"Helpful" relatives started using loud voices at the children,
"Let go, Maddy!" "
"Teagan, let go of your balloon and watch Nana fly like an angel!"
"Jack, let go of Nana!"
Jack burst into traumatised tears, "Nooo! NO letting go of Nana"
I brought out my Army voice, "Everyone stop!"
I squatted down to the kids, engulfing in cuddles,
"Its okay guys. The idea is you let go when YOU are ready to let go. If you're not ready then you hold onto that balloon until you are. No-one else can decide it for you."
Within only a few minutes, by their own choice, one by one, they each let go of their balloon and we watched each one soar into the deep blue.
Grief is such a unique journey: no-one else can decide it for you.
You let go only when you are ready to let go.
Hold onto that balloon until you are.
Melissa Hocking 2011
No comments:
Post a Comment