Thread 1/
Funeral (Every time we say goodbye)
After falling, she kept falling; never got up again. Like Alice tumbling into another world, headfirst not knowing where the bottom would be or what we’d find when she got there.
Funeral (Every time we say goodbye)
After falling, she kept falling; never got up again. Like Alice tumbling into another world, headfirst not knowing where the bottom would be or what we’d find when she got there.
2/
You sort of assume that once a person dies that’s it. That a system, a process will appear and support you. After all you’ve never done this before.
You sort of assume that once a person dies that’s it. That a system, a process will appear and support you. After all you’ve never done this before.
3/
Your mother hadn’t died previously, she’d just fallen, lost her way, forgotten the things she had always known but she hadn’t died.
At the hospital, when you arrive half an hour after the phone call, you know you’ll not see her again.
Your mother hadn’t died previously, she’d just fallen, lost her way, forgotten the things she had always known but she hadn’t died.
At the hospital, when you arrive half an hour after the phone call, you know you’ll not see her again.
4/
Yes, the body is there, in the bed but she’s not there anymore. In these strange times you find yourself following her down the rabbit hole and nothing is as you expect it to be.
The assumption was that you’d be arranging a funeral. It had been discussed in detail after all.
Yes, the body is there, in the bed but she’s not there anymore. In these strange times you find yourself following her down the rabbit hole and nothing is as you expect it to be.
The assumption was that you’d be arranging a funeral. It had been discussed in detail after all.
5/
You know exactly what she wanted even if the moleskin you wrote it in (your favourite moleskin) somehow got lost on a trip to Barry Island. But the details are indelible. You had the discussion in A and E way back before the fall; before she’d had to go to the care home.
You know exactly what she wanted even if the moleskin you wrote it in (your favourite moleskin) somehow got lost on a trip to Barry Island. But the details are indelible. You had the discussion in A and E way back before the fall; before she’d had to go to the care home.
6/
Waiting for a blood transfusion she’d been feeling unwell enough to talk of a green burial in the woods with Ella Fitzgerald singing (wanting to make sure you cried; as if you wouldn’t have cried!). She told you to dress smartly and brush your hair.
Waiting for a blood transfusion she’d been feeling unwell enough to talk of a green burial in the woods with Ella Fitzgerald singing (wanting to make sure you cried; as if you wouldn’t have cried!). She told you to dress smartly and brush your hair.
7/
But it doesn’t work like that. The Coroner’s Office explains that it’s not straightforward and they can’t issue the Death Certificate.
But it doesn’t work like that. The Coroner’s Office explains that it’s not straightforward and they can’t issue the Death Certificate.
8/
The thing is that, the result of the falling, the broken femur, means that there may have to be an inquest; you find your life, like your mother’s body, in suspended animation, on ice.
The thing is that, the result of the falling, the broken femur, means that there may have to be an inquest; you find your life, like your mother’s body, in suspended animation, on ice.
9/
And it could take two weeks for the decision regarding whether there will or won’t be an inquest. Now somehow your mother’s death from a fall in a care home is caught up with the Pandemic.
And it could take two weeks for the decision regarding whether there will or won’t be an inquest. Now somehow your mother’s death from a fall in a care home is caught up with the Pandemic.
10/
In those two weeks that we wait for the Coroner’s office to get back to us, while our mother lies in a hospital morgue, there’s a paradigm shift.
We’ve tumbled further and further down the rabbit hole and we are still falling.
In those two weeks that we wait for the Coroner’s office to get back to us, while our mother lies in a hospital morgue, there’s a paradigm shift.
We’ve tumbled further and further down the rabbit hole and we are still falling.
11/ We’re not planning a gathering in the woods anymore; we won’t find a tea party or a sleepy dormouse; gatherings have been banned. While funerals can still go ahead we realise that there only person who can get to the woods is our mother and it’s not the event she imagined.
12/
We cremated her on April 7th. When I say we, I mean the Funeral Directors and the Crematorium did. We couldn’t go. We came together for a Zoom Off, a showreel and laughter and love. Ella sung, we cried.
We cremated her on April 7th. When I say we, I mean the Funeral Directors and the Crematorium did. We couldn’t go. We came together for a Zoom Off, a showreel and laughter and love. Ella sung, we cried.
13/
Mary was not alone. There was no one in the chapel but the cherry tree put on her best blossom, the sun shone and the blackbirds sang.
Mary was not alone. There was no one in the chapel but the cherry tree put on her best blossom, the sun shone and the blackbirds sang.
14/
And now you are home, here with me again, in a box with your unread Mirror and The Light and the rainbow scarf Meg felted for you. I will attach a label saying, “Bury Me’.
And now you are home, here with me again, in a box with your unread Mirror and The Light and the rainbow scarf Meg felted for you. I will attach a label saying, “Bury Me’.
15/
When this is all over, we’ll go to the greenwood and we’ll drink Darjeeling under a Silver Birch and remember our beautiful mother.
When this is all over, we’ll go to the greenwood and we’ll drink Darjeeling under a Silver Birch and remember our beautiful mother.
This is what an unattended funeral looks like #COVIDー19 
Death in the time of #COVIDー19
