Some things never change.

Good Evening, 

One week ago I sat here writing to you from my sofa, anxious in anticipation for my grandmothers funeral. I was dreading it and more than most for a multitude of reasons. Now I know that no one ever looks forward to funerals, but this one will be especially fraught with emotions, and, as with last time, the tension and anxiety will be riding high. I laugh to myself now as I write this to you, it seems that funerals, whilst are not the happiest of occasions, always seem to be dogged for me with huge anxieties and bouts of doubt and uncertainty about myself. And this time will be no different. 

As with Granddad's funeral just over two years ago now almost to the day, I recall waking up on the morning of the funeral. I could see the bright May day beaming in through the spare room window across the hallway. And just as before, I wanted to curl up in my duvet, hide away and pretend that today was not happening. Instead, I pulled myself from slumber, my Puppy for once being kinder to me this morning and not jumping on me as he normally would, affectionate little licks to gently encourage me to get up and along with the day. Isn't it funny how animals sense these things, especially so when they come and cuddle up next to you on the sofa as you write this?

As normal, or at least as normal could be I dropped Mr Warehouse at work and headed home for a strong coffee and mind-numbing telly. Soon enough though it was time to get ready. Dressing in a black long-sleeved soft jersey wrap dress, nude tights and black heels I was all set. Hair in a plaited nape bun and fascinator fixed in place I got in the car ready to go. The journey was quiet as I thought about the attendants, my mother and brother, both of whom I had not seen since the last family funeral when I first started dating Mr Warehouse. Its been five years.  

"I suppose," I thought, "on a positive note, the Coronavirus pandemic means she can't come within 2-metres of you". I smiled at the thought. Soon enough we were approaching my Hometown and as we turned into the neighbouring street of my old family home I saw the hurse pull in front of us. Mr Warehouse asked if that was Nanna, or if it could be someone else, but as the vehicle in front took a left, I was certain she was making one last visit to the church before heading home. As the car slowed coming into Nanna's house, Mr Warehouse rested his hand on my thigh and gave me a sweet and gentle squeeze. Stopping the car he motioned if I was OK. I would be, I just needed to get today over and done with, as we all did. 

I could see some familiar faces amongst the people who had come and seen her off. Neighbours, friends and family all there for one last goodbye. My eyes fell to my Nanny Pumpkin and Uncle Africa from Ireland who was now staying with my Nanny Pumpkin (don't ask, easier not to get into it). Immediately I made a beeline for them as I knew they were my safety net, there for me and my family. I spoke with Uncle Golf a little and his younger brother, my Uncle KON. I went to see how my Auntie DD was holding up and my cousin too. At only just a teenager, this was a lot to handle. I can't imagine the pain he must be going through, especially after seeing her pretty much once or twice a week since he was born. The shock of seeing a coffin in the flesh (excuse the pun, but Nanna would have appreciated it) for the first time can be overwhelming and a bit much, especially for someone so young. 

My fiance and I took him aside for a second to console him, showing him the beautiful flower arrangement I had made on behalf of the grandchildren, my brother included as he sheepishly stood in the background with my mother, too ashamed to raise his head above the parapet I expect. After speaking with Auntie DD several weeks ago, It had been suggested to do something similar to my Granddad's funeral. Obviously, I included my brother, texting him last week to let him know of the plans and if he would like to be included he was more than welcome. Of course, he never replied, and of course, I still put his name to it as he was and still is the grandson of the dearly departed, despite not showing an ounce of remorse for not showing himself in the final few months and years of her life. I only wish he could man up and just be apart of this rather than hiding in her shadow. 

As 1pm approached we all headed into our cars, out of the way of the biting cold that she [Nanna] had cast over us from Scotland. Pulling away from her home, my thoughts turned to the next part of today. At the graveside, I was going to say a few words as I had divulged in last weeks blog post. Since there was going to be no church service due to the Coronavirus outbreak (even after Boris' announcement yesterday) there was a need to pack the occasion out and make it feel more than just a box and hole situation. As expected, my poor cousin was in no fit state to say anything let alone put words together in order to form a sentence in front of everyone and so the suggestion of something lighter about our time as grandchildren with Nanna was definitely best left to her memorial ceremony and celebration hopefully in a few months time when all of this is over. 

Pulling into the Cemetary I could see my father's car which gave me great comfort to know he was here, mostly because of the "am I, aren't I" conversations we had a few times over the last few weeks. Regardless of if he came or didn't, there would be backlash either way. My father would have been ridiculed for showing his face and coming if he had turned up and equally would have been bad-mouthed had he not come to the funeral of a woman that was once your mother-in-law. My Dad, accompanied by his new wife, was there to support me and my Auntie and Uncle's as well as my brother. Standing in the background I was glad of his presence. 

Moments later, in the freezing cold with the sun shining, I read from the freshly printed pages my monologue as posted last week. It went down well. Very well in fact, my uncle passing comment about not being about to follow such a touching tribute which I thought was lovely, especially considering how much I pawed over it and fretted about its broadcast. The moments slid by as we watched her be lowered into her final resting place, next to Granda, and soon we all started to dissipate into the Cemetary. 

All was well and we bid goodbye to close family and family friends with promises of meeting again once this Lockdown had lifted Mr Warehouse and I headed for the car. Uncle Africa wanted to speak with my mother and brother, alone, and so had asked if I could take my Nanny Pumpkin home. This delayed my catch-up with Miss Tweedle-Dee, something I was going to need after all this, but I was happy to assist as I knew that some stern words would need to be had. Although just before we left, my father made a bold move by walking in their direction. Before I knew what was happening (and truth be told I still don't) I heard my mothers voice ring out across the small parking lot. 
"BACK OFF" She bellowed, screeching at my father and holding a firm hand up in protection. Of her? Of her son? Who knows. All I do know is that my father only wanted to speak with his son and offer both him and his ex-wife his condolences. 

Sadly it seems as all the years have rolled by, the anger and searing pain are still raw. My brother is still hurting and my mother is still her old self, melodramatic and over the top. I just wish that we could all be civil. Enough time has passed for us to all get over ourselves and just accept that in certain situations we need to put things like this aside. Obviously, my mother never got that memo and instead embarrassed not only herself, but also my brother, who seems to have grown just as bitter and hateful as she is. Some things never change ...  

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx