It's the Brother in law's funeral this Wednesday, and I had no idea there was so much to organise. Prior to this, the only family funerals I've been involved in were those of my grandparents, and my parents had done everything, including the 'Which pub holds a good wake?' stuff. The Grandparents' funerals had been Christian, and there had been prayers and hymns to choose, whereas the Brother in law's is not religious, and the choice of songs and readings has been incredibly difficult. The Husband comes from a pretty complicated family, and there was a period of about twenty years when he didn't even know where his brother lived, so he's been trying to piece together enough information from friends and colleagues to put together a eulogy.
Anyway, it's all pretty much sorted now. I just have some shirts to iron and we're ready. Last weekend was spent shopping for smart clothes; The Husband's suit-trousers had mysteriously shrunk around the waistband while they'd been hanging in his wardrobe, so needed replacing; Son Number Two had to have new shoes, as the only time he ever needs smart shoes, he steals his brother's; and I needed a dress. Son Number One was already sorted, as he's the most fashion-conscious and smartest dressed of us all, but he still decided he needed yet another pair of sunglasses and a t-shirt with a picture of New York on the front (not for the funeral, I must add).
I do not enjoy clothes shopping. I get very impatient and huffy and am rather a 'that'll do' shopper, but decided that, for this occasion, it was no good buying something from the dregs of the sale-rail. I had spent several hours on the internet, looking up 'black dresses' in the hope that I wouldn't even have to enter a real clothes shop, but as I scrolled through the offerings, it dawned on me that no-one seems to make clothes that I like. I flicked through photos of skinny 18-year-olds wearing things under the heading of 'black dresses', but found nothing: 'Slutty, slutty, horrible, too expensive, slutty, oh that's nice - no, it's backless, slutty, vile, seriously - who would wear that? slutty, dammit, I can't find anything'. I couldn't find anything suitable amongst my work clothes either, so there was no alternative but to actually go to real shops. I went on my own, because I didn't think it fair to inflict my impending bad-temper on my loved-ones. Thankfully, I found something without indulging in too much stress or violence. It's a black and white spotty dress, with a black cardigan. It covers my knickers and is not see-through, so has the advantage over the offers on the internet. I also had to buy proper shoes, because you can't wear a classy dress with Doc Martens. Well, you can, but not at a funeral (I will when it becomes a work dress, needless to say).
I now get it when bereaved people say they need to get the funeral over with before they can carry on with their own lives. We, but especially The Husband, have been preparing for this since the Brother in law's terminal cancer was diagnosed back in March. Our Silver Wedding anniversary passed a couple of weeks ago, with an exchange of cards but without the weekend away that we'd promised ourselves. Sons One and Two have celebrated their 21st and 18th birthdays with kind of muted congratulations because we're all funeralled-out. And we don't have a summer holiday to look forward to because we knew all this was imminent and have been unable to book anything. Sorry, that all sounds very self-pitying, but we are all feeling quite shattered by the past year's events. My father's prostate cancer (now thankfully treated) was followed by the Father in law's stroke and eventual death, and now this. I know shit happens, but a break would be nice. I am just extremely thankful for good friends. I've had hugs when things have been tough, good-natured abuse when tears threatened, and bottles of wine brought to the door. On the other hand, some people have obviously not known what to say, and so have totally blanked me instead. Cheers for that.
Anyway, it's all pretty much sorted now. I just have some shirts to iron and we're ready. Last weekend was spent shopping for smart clothes; The Husband's suit-trousers had mysteriously shrunk around the waistband while they'd been hanging in his wardrobe, so needed replacing; Son Number Two had to have new shoes, as the only time he ever needs smart shoes, he steals his brother's; and I needed a dress. Son Number One was already sorted, as he's the most fashion-conscious and smartest dressed of us all, but he still decided he needed yet another pair of sunglasses and a t-shirt with a picture of New York on the front (not for the funeral, I must add).
I do not enjoy clothes shopping. I get very impatient and huffy and am rather a 'that'll do' shopper, but decided that, for this occasion, it was no good buying something from the dregs of the sale-rail. I had spent several hours on the internet, looking up 'black dresses' in the hope that I wouldn't even have to enter a real clothes shop, but as I scrolled through the offerings, it dawned on me that no-one seems to make clothes that I like. I flicked through photos of skinny 18-year-olds wearing things under the heading of 'black dresses', but found nothing: 'Slutty, slutty, horrible, too expensive, slutty, oh that's nice - no, it's backless, slutty, vile, seriously - who would wear that? slutty, dammit, I can't find anything'. I couldn't find anything suitable amongst my work clothes either, so there was no alternative but to actually go to real shops. I went on my own, because I didn't think it fair to inflict my impending bad-temper on my loved-ones. Thankfully, I found something without indulging in too much stress or violence. It's a black and white spotty dress, with a black cardigan. It covers my knickers and is not see-through, so has the advantage over the offers on the internet. I also had to buy proper shoes, because you can't wear a classy dress with Doc Martens. Well, you can, but not at a funeral (I will when it becomes a work dress, needless to say).
I now get it when bereaved people say they need to get the funeral over with before they can carry on with their own lives. We, but especially The Husband, have been preparing for this since the Brother in law's terminal cancer was diagnosed back in March. Our Silver Wedding anniversary passed a couple of weeks ago, with an exchange of cards but without the weekend away that we'd promised ourselves. Sons One and Two have celebrated their 21st and 18th birthdays with kind of muted congratulations because we're all funeralled-out. And we don't have a summer holiday to look forward to because we knew all this was imminent and have been unable to book anything. Sorry, that all sounds very self-pitying, but we are all feeling quite shattered by the past year's events. My father's prostate cancer (now thankfully treated) was followed by the Father in law's stroke and eventual death, and now this. I know shit happens, but a break would be nice. I am just extremely thankful for good friends. I've had hugs when things have been tough, good-natured abuse when tears threatened, and bottles of wine brought to the door. On the other hand, some people have obviously not known what to say, and so have totally blanked me instead. Cheers for that.
So, enough of the self-pity. (I was trying to find another word for 'self-pity' because I've already used it once. Urban dictionary says that 'emo' and 'Arthur Dent' are related words, which reminds me: I've not read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy for ages. We should make it compulsory reading in Year 6 because they never get my, 'Here I am, brain the size of a planet...' jokes. So sad. (Me, that is, not them.))
Tomorrow, it's meant to be good weather - a cause of great celebration here in England. The Sons are visiting The Daughter in Cornwall (Am I jealous? You bet.) and The Husband is not playing cricket, so we may actually be able to go out. I'm hoping we can go to Southwold, but I have to plant the thought in The Husband's head and make him think it was his idea. Obviously, he will also have to decide to visit the Adnams brewery shop, too. If I can't have a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, then a pint of Broadside will have to do...
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