“Hello” said the smart silver-haired lady with easy familiarity, “I am so sorry.” An old man nodded with gentle kindness. I didn’t quite not recognise them. Then I understood as she took her place at the church organ. Of course, she’s played at Grandad’s funeral. She was adding her full stop to the generation.
I was surprised and quietly touched by the filling pews. Not just Nana’s few remaining peers but an age group down, her children and her neighbours’ children, and those there to support my mum. Nana’s grandchildren. And great-grandchildren. Beautiful little S, beaming brightly in contrast to the sobriety of the day. Her infectious gaiety lifting spirits in a terribly un-English way: making us feel happier and sadder and guilty for the conflict all at the same time.
It was a slightly odd affair though. No coffin. No Urn. No focus of sorrow. In many ways it all felt quite abstract. She’d decided, many years ago, to donate her body to Medical Research. A very noble gesture, to be sure, but driven more by hard nosed financial considerations than a desire for the advancement of mankind: “Don’t want to go wasting good money on a coffin,” she’d said in her typically unsentimental way, “only to burn it.” It’s a fair point. It’s not cheap to die these days.
Of course, all that business had taken place with unseemly haste after the death. We had forty-eight unrefrigerated hours before the body was deemed unusable. In that time, there’d been a surreal and distasteful discussion with the authorities about the quality of the corpse and whether it was good enough to cut up. Not an easy conversation to have before she was actually cold. But then, she, her spirit, her soul, her essence, call it what you will, had gone with that last breath. Perhaps earlier. It was just a shell now. Still, I pity the poor students that find that wrinkled sagging bag of bones in their locker for the next three years. And in an ever-diminishing form. It would put me off doctoring, I can tell you.
And what was left were memories. I loved my Nana. But she was a miserable old cow most of these last years. Tough as old boots and as stubborn as a mule. And a terrible bully to my mum. But my Nana, nevertheless. Familiar strangers remembered her smile. And she did smile. A lot. Admittedly, most of the time it was because, being deaf as a coot, she responded to almost any inquiry with a polite grin. But a happy face nonetheless. Her son was pleased that she was remembered thus. And so I am.
I’ve sometimes wondered if all this was appropriate for a public forum. I think it is. This is the last post for her. Goodnight Nana. God Bless.
Comments