A severe undertaking

[rhythmaning]

The undertaker was clearly in the wrong job. She seemed startlingly unsympathetic. She didn’t understand what we didn’t understand, and she couldn't answer our questions: she looked at us as if we were foolish to have any questions at all.

She asked what religion my mother was. “None,” we replied. “Shall I put C of E, then?” she asked.

It was more important to her to fill out the form than to interact with us. Perhaps she was scared of death.

Each room in the undertakers was named after a castle, although it was a curious choice of castles: Arundel, Stirling, Balvenie Most of the rooms were named after Scottish castles; I would have liked to be interviewed in Balvenie (a bottle of which I have sitting on my sideboard at home, the 12 yo double wood). Drowning in the spirit seemed kind of appropriate.

We went to see my mother lying in her coffin; she lay “in rest” in Tintagel; next door was Edinburgh, which seemed more appropriate to me, at least.

She didn’t really look like my mother, to me; rather like a poor waxwork. I had expected to be moved – I have after cried a far deal over the past couple of weeks (I am pretty good when it comes to sharing my emotions I have a lot of practice). Perhaps I am all cried out.

I half expected Alyson Hannigan and Sarah Michelle Geller to burst in, stakes at the ready. Well, a boy can dream.

Comments

[rhythmaning.livejournal.com]

Well, I think it is fine to cry if one want, and fine not to, too. One of the things that has pissed me off over the last couple of weeks is people asking how I am and then giving me odd looks when I say I'm fine - I clearly don't fit their picture of how I should be feeling or reacting.

[stephmog.livejournal.com]

No two people react to death in the same way. And that's fine, too.