On the morning of his mum’s funeral, a week after the fire, Harry woke just after five o’clock and couldn’t fall back to sleep. Eddie didn’t even stir when he got out of bed. He padded into the kitchen and turned on the heater. The weather had changed almost overnight and there was a crispness to the air that announced autumn had finally arrived. It was a relief to everyone. Digby sidled up to him and dropped at his feet. Harry reached down and rubbed his ears. Before the fire Digby was rarely allowed inside – now Harry didn’t want him out of his sight. If Digby wanted to sleep inside every night, he could.
He stuck his head into his father’s bedroom and heard his rhythmic breathing. Good. At least he was catching up on his sleep. Grabbing his laptop, Harry settled into his dad’s old recliner in the lounge and opened up a blank Word document. It was time to write his mum’s eulogy.
Because of his all-consuming grief he’d left writing it until the last minute knowing it would be impossible to find the right words. But now, although it wasn’t any easier, in the early morning stillness he forced himself to pause and reflect on his mum’s life. Once he started, he realised he had so much he wanted to say, and the words poured out easily.
After finishing, he must have dozed off because he woke to the sound of the shower. Eddie must be awake. Digby lay snoring at his feet, his head resting on Harry’s feet. Harry got up and went into the kitchen to make some breakfast for Eddie, Digby trailing behind him like a shadow. He flicked the switch on the kettle and slotted some bread into the toaster. The toast popped up as Eddie came into the kitchen. She rubbed his back and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
He inhaled her freshly showered smell. ‘Morning. Sleep well?’
‘I did, thanks,’ she said.
Digby’s tail thumped on the floor and Eddie reached down and gently ruffled his ears. Digby looked up at her adoringly.
Settling into life together had been easier than either of them expected. It still felt a little strange sharing his double bed in the cramped bedroom of his childhood, but at least the house was big enough that he and Eddie didn’t feel like they were under Jim’s feet. It was only a temporary solution anyway. Harry had taken an indefinite leave of absence from the show, but once the funeral was over and he was sure his dad was going to be okay with the nursing care and council help they’d arranged, he needed to get back to Melbourne. He wasn’t even sure they’d hold his role for him, but right now that was the least of his issues. First he had to get through the funeral then, if he was going back to Melbourne, he needed to convince Eddie to come with him. He still wasn’t sure what her response would be.
She pointed to the toast. ‘Not hungry?’
‘I made it for you. I don’t think I could eat anything.’
‘It’s a big day. You probably should eat something.’
He tried to smile. ‘I’ll be okay.’
She gently kneaded his shoulders. ‘It’s okay not to be okay.’ She held him tight and he rested his head against her jumper. ‘It’s going to work out,’ she said firmly. ‘We just have to get through today.’
He heard footsteps and turned around. Claire stood in the doorway. ‘I’ve come to help get Dad up,’ she said with a sad smile.
Eddie went to her and hugged her. ‘I’ll give you a hand.’
*
The funeral home sent two cars to collect the family so they could travel in convoy to the church and wake afterwards. Harry, Eddie and Jim travelled in the first car, Claire, Simon and the kids in the second. As the cars turned into the church yard Harry gasped. There had to be hundreds of people gathered under the trees.
‘Why aren’t they inside the church?’ he asked the driver.
‘It’s already full. We’re setting up a marquee around the side for the overflow. Someone’s bringing more plastic chairs over from the school.’
Harry glanced over at two men busily erecting speakers on tripod stands. ‘I can’t believe so many people have come out for your mum,’ Jim said from the back seat as he craned his head from side to side looking out the windows.
‘They’ve come for you too,’ Eddie said, placing her hand on Jim’s.
The car pulled to a stop and Harry climbed out first and helped the driver get the wheelchair from the boot. Since the fire Jim had struggled to walk and found it easier to be in a wheelchair.
It was perfect picnic weather, not funeral weather. Warm and sunny with barely a breeze and birds chirping in the trees as though no one had told them it was supposed to be a sombre occasion. The kind of day his mum had always loved, Harry realised, so perhaps it was fitting the weather had cooperated.
Simon straightened his suit and tie, took Claire’s hand and headed over to Harry. ‘Want me to push your dad so you and Claire can say g’day to people?’ he asked.
‘Nah, it’s all right, mate. This is something I want to do.’ Harry rested a hand on his dad’s shoulder before crouching beside him. ‘How are you doing, Dad?’
Jim gave a tight smile. ‘I’m okay.’ He was lying, but they all were. None of them were okay.
Harry squeezed his dad’s shoulder. ‘Let’s do this.’
He straightened up and gave Eddie and his sister a weak smile before pushing the wheelchair towards the church. As he got closer, Harry removed his sunglasses and tried to smile at the people mingled outside. There were so many, but he recognised very few faces. Eddie and Claire seemed to know everyone though, both women stopping to hug people as they made their way inside. Jim remained stiffly upright, shoulders tense, in the chair, nodding his greetings.
As soon as they entered the church a hush fell over the crowd and Harry became aware that someone was playing the organ. His legs were heavy, like he was trying to wade through water in slow motion. His gaze roamed around the small church. Did his mum even know this many people? The minister, Libby, greeted Harry with a handshake that morphed into a motherly hug. Claire was also greeted with a hug and kiss on the cheek. Libby bent down and spoke to Jim. Her words were soft and Harry couldn’t make out what she was saying, but whatever it was appeared to give his dad some comfort.
After he manoeuvred the wheelchair into position and put the brakes on, he took his assigned seat on the front pew with his dad on one side of him in the aisle, and Eddie on the other with Claire beside her.
Harry closed his eyes for a moment and let the music wash over him before opening them and staring at the casket. The fragrance coming from the roses hit him hard and his throat tightened and tears welled. Jenny would never pick another rose from her garden. Under the roses, a stunning quilt, the last one she’d ever made, lay draped over the coffin.
After the hymn ended, Libby took her position at the front of the church and welcomed everyone. Harry stood and sat when he was told, recited the Lord’s prayer, joined in singing the words of his mum’s favourite hymn and listened to Claire read a poem, but he barely took any of it in before Libby indicated it was time for the eulogy. He stood slowly. It was only a few short steps to the front of the altar, but he wasn’t sure he could make it. He drew strength from Eddie’s reassuring smile.
He laid his notes on the lectern, before drawing in a deep breath and surveying the people before him. His eyes lingered longest on his dad. Jim gave a tiny nod of his head. Harry cleared his throat, straightened the papers and began.
‘Thank you everyone for coming today. It means a lot to our family.’ He lifted his eyes from the words in front of him and willed them to stop blurring behind his glasses. ‘Those who knew Mum knew she was one of those people who lit up the room whenever she entered. She was warm, compassionate and caring and always wanted to help others, no matter the inconvenience. As well as sewing and quilting, Mum loved music – all types of music – but I guess for obvious reasons her favourite was musical theatre.’
There was a chuckle from the congregation.
‘Mum was born just after World War Two and she didn’t meet my dad until she was thirty-three. They were married soon after and had Claire.’ He smiled at his sister. ‘Mum and Claire always had a special bond and over the past few months, as I’ve watched my sister care for Dad, I’ve realised how much she’s just like Mum. Mum always wanted a big family but she never managed to have another baby, so eventually she and Dad stopped trying. Then I came along as her “little surprise” when she was forty-one. I wasn’t such a “little” surprise though. I weighed nearly ten pounds.’
This bought another small laugh.
‘We never heard Mum complain about anything or wish her life had been different. She was one of those women who was brought up believing it was her role to stay at home and look after her husband, and she did that brilliantly. In fact,’ he swallowed, ‘that’s exactly what she was doing the day she died – caring for Dad.
‘She was always our biggest supporter. It was Mum who encouraged Claire and I to dream big, to make the best of everything and to face issues head on. She always believed there was no obstacle that couldn’t be overcome. Even when Dad got sick, Mum believed he’d get well.’
He looked down at Jim, who was nodding slowly.
‘Mum’s sudden passing has hit us all hard because it was totally unexpected. We had no idea she’d been having issues with her heart because she never told anyone. That was Mum. Stoic and always putting others first. She was more worried about Dad than herself.
‘Mum’s always been our rock, our strength and our comfort when times have been tough. I honestly don’t know how we’ll cope without her. Her death leaves a massive hole in our hearts and lives, but we will draw strength from the things she taught us. She’ll be missed, but her memory will live on in us all forever.’
He snuck at look at the coffin again. ‘I love you so much, Mum, and I’ll miss you more than words can say.’
Harry gazed around the old church. The sunlight glinted through the stained glass windows, painting people in all the colours of the rainbow. It made him smile. His mum would have said it was a sign from above. He blinked twice and his eyes came to rest on Claire. She gave him a watery smile. Only one last thing to do. Harry steeled himself.
‘I made a promise to Dad the other night at the hospital,’ he said, feeling an unfamiliar wave of nervousness. ‘He asked me to sing for Mum, which is what I’d like to do now.’
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
Harry closed his eyes and waited for the familiar music to start. As he filled his lungs, the enormity of the moment hit him. This was his performance of a lifetime.
He opened his mouth and sang ‘Empty Chairs at Empty Tables’ from Les Miserables. When the song ended, there wasn’t a dry eye in the church.
Harry went straight to his dad.
‘Thank you, Harry. Thank you.’
For the next few minutes, Harry wasn’t aware of the images of his mum flashing across the large screen. As he held hands with his dad and they both wept, Harry’s heart broke all over again. How long would it be before he was sitting here for another funeral?