I’ve been churning out this blog for almost thirteen years now (on various platforms) and in this time I have lost several friends and relatives (to death, not because of the dullness of the writing)
Each time one passes it gives me time to reflect not just on their impact on me but also on the person they were.
However, I come from a background where practicality and realism are to the fore.
Flannel and flower, as my Dad used to called it, have no place either in life or death.
We, as a race, have an irritating tendency to turn the recently dead into saints.
“Don’t speak ill of the dead” the Spartans would say and we’ve clung on to this ever since.
I undestand why we do this.
Death is a bit final isn’t it?
So if we are to be celebrated, it should be for the good we’ve done rather than the mistakes we’ve made.
But this isn’t a passport to a lie.
I can remember weeping when my Gran died. I’d visited her at her home and in the care facility, week on week for years. We got on famously and I still feel her influence when making decisions – it tends to sway me away from being selfish.
When she died I felt it. This isn’t to say that I don’t remember all the bitter words she said. Her life was always hard. Grandad was injured in WWI and she nursed him for years. She then raised her son in poverty, losing a young daughter and working in the Salvation Army to help others.
This gave her a sanctimoniousness which in later years made her reflect negatively on almost everyone who passed by.
I was sad to see her go but I knew who she was.
However, when my Dad died two years ago, it affected me much less.
As a youngster I didn’t see a lot of him as he worked night shifts. He upset Mum a lot, as did his live-in Mum who badgered her in every aspect of our lives.
When I was 9 we were in a near fatal accident, partly caused by his bullying behaviour, which left him permanently disabled including brain damage. At best he was a petulant child, at worst a tyrant.
His contribution to my life was scant. Lots of “despite of’s” rather than “because of’s”.
But they say funerals are for the living, don’t they?
At his, folk said many kind things about him which were ill-advised and imaginery. I met my brothers’ eyes a few times and we were in silent accord about this nonsense.
My own epitaph will be along the lines of
‘remember me as I was, neither a saint nor a sinner,
I aged a bit and my hair got thinner,
I broke some rules but did good things,
Just don’t measure me up for halo and wings’
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