Saturday, 22 September 2012
Dust to dust
I went to say goodbye to the dear friend mentioned a few posts back. Someone who who should have had a very long delay, or less oddly put, a much longer life.
It was a beautiful quiet little ceremony in the middle of the woods next to her house: just the sound of gentle breezes in the trees and some late summer grasshoppers. Before the scattering, I spent quite a long time in her house, looking at the elements that made up a life. The things we accumulate, the few treasured items that might depart with us: photos, a talisman, a favourite book, a pressed flower from a poignant time.
I always get pathetically emotional at any funeral. Even if it had been someone I met once in the post office, my eyes would have become blurry with tears. It's something about the finality of the coffin, or the container of ashes; probably more so with the latter. That small pot, containing what was or still is in some way, someone we knew.