Thursday: my mum's funeral

One week ago today, I lost my mum.  And today, we all said goodbye.

When I woke up this morning, the sun was shining, but my heart was in the darkest place.  I sobbed relentlessly, I was physically sick with nerves, crippled by worries, hoping that everything would go ok and that I wouldn't let her down.  My legs felt like jelly, I could hardly walk.

In the intervening hours before the funeral, I got myself ready and focused on mundane things like washing up and listening to local radio (now that is what you call mundane).  My mum was unconventional and would have hated to be described as a traditionalist, so I had already decided that I would not wear black; rather, in personal tribute I would wear a purple dress, because purple - all shades and tones of it - was my mum's favourite colour.

Of course I have been very lucky not to go through all this on my own.  Faithful travelling companion has shouldered so much of my grief and pain, and has always been there for me. We have been through so much together over the years, and I will love him forever.

On our arrival at the church, I was taken aback by the amount of people who had turned up.  So many of my workmates were there and I made sure that I took time to speak to them before the service began.  As the years pass and the number of close family members dwindle, I didn't expect too many of them to be there, but my lovely cousins all made it.  And I was to happy to see my mum's two dearest friends who live nearby.  And my own lovely friends made it, which also made me so happy.

Inevitably, I was overcome with grief when mum's coffin arrived.  My poor, sick, frail little mum. Yet I managed to find the strength to make it through what turned out to be a lovely and very personal service, accompanied by some of mum's favourite hymns which I had personally chosen. Towards the end, the priest invited me up to give my 'eulogy'.

I went on to tell some of the stories I'd written about my mum's life, and the happy moments we shared. I'm certainly no stand-up comedian and I can't tell a joke to save my life, but the words I had written just bounced off the page as I spoke with love for my mum, whom I had shared my whole life with.  I looked out into the congregation to see smiling faces, and there was lots of laughter. There were no tears of sadness as I spoke - how could I be sad about a lifetime of love and happiness?  At the end of my little speech, everyone applauded!  Applause in church - that was incredible.  All I wanted to do was to make mum happy today; I think I did.

As we followed the coffin out of the church, I broke down again.  I know we were on a tight schedule, but I was determined to talk to as many people as I could, outside the church, because I wanted to thank them for coming today.  I lost count of the number of hugs I received.

We travelled with my uncle and cousin on the way to the crematorium, and there were some very welcome laughs in the car, which completely lifted my mood.  By the time we reached the crematorium I was a lot more calm.  I knew the drill at the crematorium because I'd been there before, a few years ago.  Two of my mum's favourite songs were played, prayers were said, and the curtains closed.

In one way, there was a strange sense of relief that it was all over, after the exhaustion of recent days, yet everything still feels so surreal.  Time is strange.  Every day I ask myself several times, "what day is this?".  Today didn't feel like Thursday. But no days have really felt like the way they should be.  I know that a few people are questioning my decision to return to work on Monday, but I need to do this.  Mum would certainly want me to get on with life.  Due to annual leave followed by sickness followed by bereavement, I've been off work three weeks, so it's time to go back.  I am grieving regardless of where I am, so I'm as well at work where there are friends and colleagues to keep my spirits up and keep me grounded, and where there are many opportunities to keep myself occupied and distract myself from this unbearable sadness.

I went home after spending the afternoon with faithful travelling companion.  That bus journey home was completely bleak.  But things got better when I arrived home, as I'd decided to just spend tonight relaxing and doing absolutely nothing.   I need to be on my own tonight. No phone calls, no texting. I feel completely exhausted, and need to rest.  There will be other days or nights when I will think about the new routines in my life, about what meals I'll eat, about how I'll manage my depleted finances, about the major, life-changing decisions....but tonight is not one of those nights.

More cards arrived today.  Tonight I counted 24 cards on display in my living room, and I continue to feel overwhelmed by the love and support of everyone around me.

It has really helped me to write about everything which has happened over the past week.  If you have been reading these posts, then thank you.  If you have taken any comfort from what I've written, then it's all been worthwhile.

Already I am thinking of several 'positives' which I can take from the darkest experience of my life, because no matter how dark things got, my mum would always look on the bright side (I feel a song coming on!). But the best thing I can do is just get on with living my 'new normal' life, to face each new challenge ahead.  It's a strange thing to say for someone in an age group usually described as "middle-aged" (ugh) but I feel as if I've grown up a lot this week.  I am my mum's legacy, and the best thing I can do for her is to be the best person I can possibly be; to travel through life with an open mind, to respect and help others, to embrace both new and familiar experiences, to maintain good health, and to be happy.  But I'll finish with a quote - the other day, one of my friends said that "you are your mother's daughter".  And that's the nicest thing I could ever want to be :)