Sad But Beautiful

A scattering of memories sharp and clear like shadows on a sunny winter's day:

Standing waiting for the hearse, wearing as little black and as much purple as possible. My first granddaughter trotting happily up and down the path in a dress like a bridesmaid's.

The arrival of the hearse and limousine: solemn faces, top hat and cane. Glimpses of the pale wood coffin under a sea of flowers, a photo of Rosemarie leant against the coffin facing out the back window, smiling.

Climbing into the limousine and  suddenly it all becomes very real. Coasting along behind the hearse through quiet suburbs looking through tears at the photo of Rosemarie looking back at us, smiling.

The sedate arrival at the Crematorium, drawing to a halt in front of a line of serious-faced friends and family. They went in to the strains of Bette Midler's The Rose, as the pallbearers eased the coffin from the hearse and led the family through the doorway.

The Celebrant doing the introduction and opening address, then Celia reading a eulogy to Rosemarie's life working with children. Tears coming with the memories, an aching sense of loss with the words.

Then my son, my daughter and me reading poems we had chosen: not quite daring to look up from the sheet of paper, engulfed in a sea of emotion. Hardest thing I have done for years.

Jacqueline Du Pre's peerless rendering of St Saën's The Swan soaring hauntingly through the silent crematorium as everyone reflected on Rosemarie's life.

The tribute, then a closing poem read by the Celebrant, and the closing words and committal.

The curtains closing with a whisper of finality.

The opening strains of Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life.

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The cremation ceremony was sad and very emotional - there was no way it couldn't be - but we tried as hard as we could to make it how she wanted it. Everyone was invited to wear bright colours and quite a few people did. The music and the poems were as far as possible positive and life affirming, and the tribute had some jokes.

The viewing of the flowers started to loosen people up and by the time we reached the pub the celebration she would have wanted had truly started.

There were people she had worked with, people whose children she had minded, family and friends of decades, and most of these people had never met before. I had compiled a slideshow of pictures of Rosemarie from babyhood right up to the point where the first stages of the disease showed in her eyes. This ran on a loop in the area of the bar set aside for us and attracted a lot of attention; it showed a different side of her to most of the people there.

There was food and a free bar and a steady buzz of conversation. People mingled and shared their memories of her, and everywhere I went there was a feeling of warmth and love.

Just like she was there.