I remember the details more than anything. The sound of the funeral car’s tyres on the road as it slid to a stop to pick us up. The small puddles in the pits and hollows of the church’s cracked old pavement. I was surprised to see how they had almost dried up by the time we came back outside, how bright and warm the sun had become. I remember feeling shocked when my gran hugged me. She was wearing the perfume she always wore to church and that didn’t seem right. I remember everyone standing for a hymn, the silent pause, the organist’s arm mid-air before the hymn started and the breath-filled second before everyone started to sing.
The church itself seemed different. I had been there many times before: christenings, weddings and harvest festivals. It was quieter today. It felt more useful somehow. Like it was fulfilling a purpose. I’m sure nobody checked a watch, nobody’s thoughts wandered and nobody thought about what they had to do later. Everyone was focused.
The eulogy and the hymns, the big stuff I suppose, I’m not sure I took those in. I remember a line or a phrase. ‘A much loved wife and mother and daughter, taken from us too early.’ That came through. I watched dust particles drift through the air and felt like my body wasn’t mine any more.
I remember what my mum said: ‘I wouldn’t want to be buried, stuck in a wooden box with worms eating my eyes. Burn me up! Turn me into ash and throw me into the sea. We’ll all be thrown into the sea when we’re dead and then one day, sometime, somewhere, before the earth dies we’ll all be swept together again as we pass each other on different tides.’
She laughed and me and Dad laughed with her. She would know she was sounding a little manic, but it was only a little and she could be like this for weeks before it got worse, and sometimes it never did. Sometimes she was just exuberant.
My mum loved the sea. She told me that two-thirds of the planet is under the sea. ‘Think about it Luke, think about all the places man hasn’t discovered on earth and then think what must be down there. There are mountains and deep, deep hidden seabeds no human eye will ever see. There are continents of undiscovered land under water. Vast areas of blackness, beautiful creatures and secrets we will never know. That’s where I want to end up.’
So we didn’t have to bury her. It made me think: Why would anyone lower the body of a loved one into the cold ground? Throw some mud on them and let them slowly rot? I don’t believe in God and heaven and hell but I did care what happened to her and I much preferred the thought of her remains being at sea. Being tossed and turned in a wild black storm at three o’clock in the morning or being sunned and rocked gently on a calm afternoon. That seemed more like my mum.
Afterwards everyone spoke about how busy it had been. There wasn’t enough room on the pews, people had to stand at the back. I wasn’t aware of that. My grandparents had taken charge – my dad’s parents. Me and dad were ushered into the car, into the church, up to the front pew and then back out into the bright sun. We didn’t have to do anything. People came across to us, shook our hands, kissed us, hugged us, offered condolences. We nodded and let them do what they had to do.
Everyone was invited back to my grandparents’ house. Dad and me went too but after a few minutes he took me by the shoulders and steered me out of the hushed house. We went home. Our house was empty and silent. My dad sat in his chair to drink and I went to my room and sat down and had the thought: What are you supposed to do on the afternoon of the day you’ve cremated your mum?