PAYING RESPECTS

I could think of a thousand and one reasons for not going, of course; Work commitments, the fact that the Beloved is a little under the weather, thinking that there would be plenty of people there anyway, that general belief that ‘I don’t do that sort of thing’, or that it wouldn’t really make any difference if I was there or not, that nobody was really going to notice, etc., etc., etc., but, in the end, I decided to go simply because it seemed like the right thing to do.

After all, what was only a couple of hours of my ‘personal time’ when it came to marking the end of the lifetime of a vital part of a family who had been very kind to me during those years when I was trying (and possibly failing) to ‘grow up’? Despite the fact that I would not be even vaguely registering on their minds that day, there would, hopefully, still be many years for them to realise and remember a non-appearance, but a couple of hours freely given to pay your respects isn’t all much to ask.

Anyway, my mother would have wanted our family to be represented in some way, and, looking around me, that kind of really only left me on the ‘availability list’ to do the decent thing, even though it’s not something that I really want to make a habit of.

There are those, it appears, who do make a habit of attending such events, perhaps because they’ve got to an age where it’s the only time they get out and get to meet people. Now, like a lot of people, these events are never going to be my favourite way of passing an afternoon, especially as my own emotions are still far too raw, and it’s never easy to see people you care about in that state either, and the entire thing is almost bound to be upsetting, but support is support, and sometimes just showing your face can give a little comfort in such desperate times.

It is, however, one of the unfortunate side-effects of getting older, that you seem to have to go to more and more of these kinds of events as everybody else around you is getting older too. I may have managed to keep the quota fairly low so far (although I’ve had my share), but there appears to be a bit of an exponential curve happening now in that these moments seem to be happening far more frequently and the period of time between them is getting shorter.

So, for whatever reason, at the risk of not getting through a morning without spilling coffee on it, or covering it with crisp crumbs, and suspecting that I might be looking a little like a slightly scruffy and underpaid bank clerk, I dug out the old ‘best suit’ and put it on as I headed to work for the day, worrying what my disappearance for a couple of hours in such an outfit might just suggest to my colleagues (because everyone always assumes you’re wearing an ‘interview suit’ no matter what you tell them), whilst also wondering whether I was dressing too formally for one of those colourful, optimistic ‘celebrations of life’ that my mother and I used to disagree about the tone of.

I also knew that I was going to find it difficult for more personal reasons. It was, after all, the very same building in which we’d marked the passing of my mother not six months earlier and, of course, also the first time I’d been back there since, so a lot of mixed emotions were churning up throughout the morning’s build-up.

Anyway, after battling through lunchtime traffic and scrambling about for a parking spot, given that one of my mother’s neighbours has now taken to habitually parking in hers, I made it, and, after waiting as the church itself filled up, and the arrival of the family from the more ‘formal’ part of the proceedings, the occasion was, of course, both deeply moving and highly uplifting, which is as it should be, and how it needed to be, and my friend was brave enough and grown up enough to stand before the assembled multitudes and speak about his parent, something I know that I would not be able to do myself under any circumstances.

It was a sign of the high regard in which the man himself was held that the building was packed to the rafters, and the familiar songs were belted out with great gusto, and the reminiscences were well received, and the jokes were laughed at, and I even learned a thing or twelve about the life of the man himself, not least of some impressive devotion to family and faith, both areas in which I feel I myself still have much to learn and could probably find no better example to follow, if I chose to.

Afterwards, as well as doing my best to talk to the family without breaking up, I spoke to many people, some of whom I hadn’t seen in years, and I was generally really rather glad I made the effort to do so, because, you know, when you do respect someone, paying your respects really is, perhaps, the very least you can do.