Adieu - Finale

[brightncheerful]

I’d arrived early, having collected my woman-friend en-route, my driver took us, reliant on a satnav until woman-friend gave him directions. Observed others arriving, until time to an ante-room with other attendees. I wore a covid mask. We filed in to the spacious room. A monitor at one end displaying a woodland glade with his name an overlay at the bottom on the right-hand side. Fitting, I thought, for a card-carrying supporter of the Conservative Party. A mark of respect, I wore blue trousers, a blue pullover and a green jacket. Woman-friend wore black: she told me she’d never been to a crematorium before. I said it’s just like in a James Bond movie.

Hearse arrived. Standing time. The coffin adorned with his hat and a few flowers placed on the conveyor belt.

His funeral, a fast-talking celebrant and an approximate 5-minute biography. A life précis. Where and for whom he’d worked - Newfoundland, New York, Montreal, Guantánamo Bay, Great Universal Stores - my woman friend, me and shopping at Waitrose on Saturday mornings mentioned, and one of the two Waitrose check-out partners who also attended. The other Waitrose partner, wearing W uniform, I thought as if Waitrose had sponsored the funeral. Much about his wife including how they’d met. His parents owned a hotel in Margate, she’d been a guest was how they met, friendship blossomed into romance.

He was younger than I thought. The third man of our Saturday mornings, aged 89, 3 years older but actually, it was 5. No matter.

I knew his music genre was jazz - when he lived in London he would go to Ronnie Scott’s - so considering he was a keen fan of Sonny Boy Williamson 1, was surprised that the musical accompaniments weren’t. On entry, Elgar’s “Chanson de Matin”. During the Pause to Give Thanks, “Songbird” by Eva Cassidy. On exit, Fleetwood Mac, “The Chain”. The exit music made me wonder whom I’d like at my end, Pink Floyd’s “Is there anybody out there”.

Life summed up in one word, he liked to do things “properly”.

We lingered outside afterwards, mostly chatting with the Waitrose people. His neighbour, i asked if he were going to buy his house, hesitant, unsure, major project, etc. Woman-friend counted 27 attendees. That’s the snag, I said: the older you are, the fewer your contemporaries. My theory, likely by others that knew him, is that after he was sure his wife would be well cared for, he let go. Someone told me he had looked forward to every week for our meeting before Waitrose store opened. That was Covid-19's doing.

All invited for tea and biscuits, despite almost lunchtime, it wasn't a hospice he’d lived in for the past weeks but a care home. I chatted to a stranger, younger, an engineer. Not realising, until woman-friend told me later, after she’d been confronted by the power-of-attorney man asking why I’d told the engineer something about the poa man, that the engineer was a relative. She told me poa man had, since taking over, intercepted all communications to him, which is how poa-man had known what I’d texted my concerns. I told her that poa man had informed me that she didn’t have any concerns, but Incorrect as she’d told me otherwise, just that she hadn’t let poa man know. She said poa man and family won't be visiting his wife before Christmas as they’re going on a two and half-week holiday: I wondered if that had been pre-booked or the spoils of the house clearance. No matter. A pleasure to delete poa man’s text to me.

Saturday mornings with the older man isn’t quite the same. We get on well, same dry humour. But as he arrives around 07:30 there isn’t as much time to chat. And in-store, apart from a nod of passing trolleys to begin with, nothing else until the next week. I had noticed months ago that we’d all effectively run out of things to say to one another, conversation having changed from sharing autobiographies to intervals of silence and passing the time.

Woman-friend visited his widow a few days before the funeral. Conversation flowed until widow said to go next door to see him. I said that, even without dementia, not unusual when mourning.

I shall visit his widow. Hopefully, our conversation will also flow. Until she joins him.

[scrumpyjack]

Sic transit gloria mundi

I was invited to join a lunch group of old men about 10 months ago. I'm the youngest at 76, one other is also and the other 6 range from 82 to 94. All have their marbles, are very interesting people who have achieved a lot. The eight of us meet once a month at a good pub/restaurant (in August at the RAF club).

It is extremely civilised as we ban 3 topics of conversation - religion, health and politics. There is still plenty to talk about. Surprisingly the others all still have their wives (mine died very sadly earlier this year).

One does have a different perspective on what is important, and what isn't, at this stage of life!

[brightncheerful]

I shall visit his widow. Hopefully, our conversation will also flow. Until she joins him.

About two weeks ago, she did. I was going to visit her on the Sunday but Mrs Bnc said I was too busy with work so shouldn't. My friend was going to visit her on the Saturday but also didn't. As Mrs Bnc said, my intuition.

On Monday morning, she passed, almost age 91.

I contacted the school where she'd taught speech and drama for 33 years to tell them of her passing in case anyone would remember her. I received a lovely reply, She'd taught speech and drama throughout her career, at 3 schools.) She'd never wanted to act, wanting to be a producer or director but content to teach. I'm told that when she retired, 3 people replaced her.

I wanted to go to the funeral yesterday. I'd arranged transport, including collecting my friend, so we could go together. But I had to cancel, as the week before I'd hurt the outside of my left hand at the gym (hand is almost better now.)

Friend tells me there were 19 people at the ceremony. Everyone was very nice and generally happy and sad that she has passed.

When I last visited, she talked about going home, saying only that being in the old people's home was to be with her husband. I suggested she would find living alone risky, and perhaps she should have a companion. She agreed, but was concerned that after the novelty had worn off, they might not get along. I suggested independent living, which she thought a better idea. Little did she know, as I didn't then, that the house had been sold subject to contract. She wondered what she could do. i am glad she solved the problem.

I am pleased that I knew them.

Lovely people.