A strange gift

I had to go to a funeral last week – one of my writing friends, Colin Webb, had sadly passed away. It was a glorious day, all at odds with how it should be on such a sad occasion, which made me think of a clever story he’d had published about a funeral at midnight in atrocious weather. So many people came to pay their respects that the service was late starting while as many chairs as could be were found and still the mourners spilled out into the gardens.

And during the service and afterwards chatting with friends, I realised that a funeral can actually be a gift. Colin’s service was entitled a service of thanksgiving and, sad as it was to reflect that he’s no longer with us on this plane, we could all be thankful that he had touched our lives. And, of course, there’s that reminder, knocking us a bit more insistently on the shoulder that day, that yesterday has gone, tomorrow isn’t guaranteed, but today, that’s a gift, which is why it’s called the present. During my kids’ childhoods, I used to stop sometimes and just watch them, thinking I needed to imprint that time in my mind as it wouldn’t come again and, if I didn’t do so, it would be lost.

Colin’s funeral also got me thinking how often I can get distracted with ‘busy’ work which, in the great scheme of things, if I were looking back at my life, I wouldn’t want to have spent so much time on. It seems my ‘to-do’ list would be much better entitled ‘things I’m glad to do’. Yes, the mundane has to fit in there somewhere but ‘things I’m glad to do’ feels so much more inspiring it might even make washing the car seem like something fun . . .