One of the toughest times with the breakdown of my first marriage happened to be at the same time as I was working a job that was a long way from home – Colchester. This was too much of a daily drive from Royston, so during the week I stayed with friends in Ipswich and only went home at weekends. I remember the dread I would feel on a Friday afternoon, and though I wanted to see my kids, I did not want to go home.
But this post is about the positive, the love and support
of friends and the wonderful people I got to meet in Ipswich. Staying with my
friends was such a breath of fresh air – I’d played music with them many times
(even had a couple of band iterations). Whilst staying with them I met more of their friends and got
involved in local activities, both musical and otherwise (including the local
pagan moot).
Fast forward just over ten years, and my lovely friends
(names changed) Jenny and Ric had moved to Wales. And at just 60 years old, a few weeks ago, Ric was suddenly gone.
Totally unexpected and devastating for Jenny and her family. Everyone was shocked
– just a few days before he had been cutting back the laurels that were overhanging
the stream and blocking the flow.
Instead of a funeral, Jenny and her family chose to celebrate
Ric’s life, and – in line with many pagan beliefs – his onward journey. Even
though I hadn’t seen them for years, I really wanted be with Jenny on the day
they had chosen for celebration.
I drove to Wales on the Saturday, and next day went up to their home where many friends old and new were gathered. Now I must confess that at funerals I am a mess – I know this is probably related to my own unresolved issues around my father’s death – but it may explain why my eyes leaked so much. This was a celebration of life, not sadness, but I found it hard to not see Ric there, with Jenny. It was so obviously a perfect environment for them both.
We were in Wales, so it was raining heavily as expected - right up until the ceremony, when the clouds parted and a glimpse of sunshine brightened the warm, but wet afternoon. The ceremony began with Jenny walking with Ric’s ashes in her arms around a stone-outlined labyrinth that had been laid out on the grass. All I could hear was the quiet babbling of the stream, the call of the long-tailed tits dancing from tree to tree, and the fresh rain-bathed smell of sloe, apple and oak in the grounds around the house. Once in the centre she sat quietly and first family, then friends, entered the labyrinth with a beautiful peace poem on their lips. I imagine it could have been a slow parade with a shared chant, but instead people read quietly to themselves, and as more and more entered the labyrinth on their way to Jenny and Ric in the centre, the solemnity was replaced with something more beautiful. As each of us passed one another, we hugged. Some got ‘lost’ and headed the wrong way and there were smiles and chats, redirection and squeezing past; when we reached Jenny in the middle, we hugged her and gave her a piece of paper with a message for Ric. Mine said ‘a duck billed platypus’. He knows.
Afterwards we headed back to the house (and the rain started
up again), and though I had to leave to travel back across the breadth of the
country, there followed shared food and more music. That’s very much how I remember
them both – sharing, musical, warm and loving.
A typical English funeral has some unknown pastor talking about
someone they (usually) never knew – with family and friends separated in rows
of wooden seats, joined only in singing and grieving. I may not have understood the pagan
rituals or share all the same beliefs, but I very much preferred this kind of
event where we could hug, talk, smile, cry, and participate in a true
celebration of Ric’s life.
Further information:
No comments:
Post a Comment