I went to the funeral of a friend's dad on Thursday. He'd been ill for a while so it wasn't a complete shock, but it was terrible all the same. This friend and I aren't particularly close, but she and her sister are in our little circle of 'madams' (everyone wants to be in our circle of madams), so of course we closed ranks. I found out about the funeral on Wednesday afternoon, and since I didn't have anything else to do, I decided I would make the trip up to Preston.
I'd been to a couple funerals of friends' parents when I was younger, but thankfully not in recent times. I'm trying to remember, but I think the last funeral I went to was that of my friend in 2005. I don't do well at funerals...obviously. I mean, I don't know of a single person who enjoys funerals. But what hit me on Thursday is that we're beginning to get to the age where our parents may not have that much longer. And it's that stark reminder of the mortality of those around us.
As I was getting dressed, I started thinking of the circumstances under which I'd be pulling on my funeral clothes and remembering to pack tissues. Thinking of having to do it for my own parents, or God forbid, one of my siblings or friends, filled me with such a feeling of dread, I felt my heart drop down to my feet.
My gran is 92, so logic states that hers will be the next funeral I need to go to. However, my gran is also a bit evil and will outlive us all so I shudder to think who will be next.
While I didn't know my friends' dad, it was so sad being at the crematorium. Seeing my friend kiss the coffin and perform some of the Hindu rites really got to me. This was her DAD. And he was in a little box.
It is a day I hope is many years away for me.
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