The Day Of The Funeral

A personal short story of the day of my fathers funeral in June 2018

The Day Of The Funeral.

In hindsight I see that my life was happier and had a brighter light in it when you were here. My days were filled with a brightness that reflected in the way I wrote and the way that I talked about things. Now, there seems to be a darkness, and it is enveloping me. It absorbs my like a sponge does water.

That feeling came when I received the phone call saying you had passed. It broke me like a baseball bat to a windshield, and I was shattered beyond recognition.

It hurt me knowing that only the night before we were talking and you told me, for what neither of us knew would be the last time, that you loved me.

I remember the morning of your funeral well.

I slowly got up, and forced myself into the shower. Tears were running down my face, thankfully blending in with the water, which was a constant stream on my face, reminding me of one of your favourite songs “Crying in the rain” by The Everly Brothers.

Constantly, I whispered to myself to stop crying. That for you, I was not allowed to be weak, that your memory was always in my mind and I knew that if you could see me, you would be willing me to smile for you.

The shower was an eternity of heat, trying to warm the very core of my soul. it didn’t last however. As soon as I left the confine of my shower, the coolness of reality and sadness crept in, taking with it all hope of a normal day.

I dragged my helpless legs, one after the other, to my room and fell in a heap on the bed, not wanting the day to progress any further than it already had. In two hours, we would all be meeting and standing around your coffin, smiling and crying at the memories of you. I couldn’t allow myself to do that. My body and soul did not want to grieve, nor did my body understand how to grieve.

You cannot fathom the loss of a parent. Especially when it is sudden. The person is in your life. You talk every day and you are so used to them being around and being there for you, since the beginning of your life… And then one day, out of the blue, you are hit with the news that they are gone. Your body has to process that there will no longer be phone calls, words of encouragement in the hard times, no cuddles to heal the hurt and no words can make it better. A part of me died alongside you that day Dad.

Forcing myself to get up, I reluctantly went to the wardrobe and pulled out my funeral dress. A navy blue dress, made of a thick material that sat just above the knee. Modest and formal, like you would have wanted.

Dressed with pride, like you raised me to be, I stood in front of the mirror and looked at myself. Tears started streaming down my cheeks, staining them red. I turned to my love and looked at him, crying uncontrollably, I said in a broken and defeated voice “I can’t do this. I can’t go to his funeral. This isn’t real…” He held me close and the pain, which felt like it would never leave, eased slightly.

The hour passed quickly and before I knew it, we were in the car, driving to the church where you were already waiting. A navy blue hearse was waiting at the doors, with you already inside.

Andrew and I were the first to arrive, and we proceeded to enter the church. Something was forcing me to go up to you and touch the coffin which encased your handsome yet lifeless body. This was all so surreal and it was hitting me hard. I couldn’t come to the realisation that you were really gone.

As we were standing there, my other sisters arrived.

We gathered and wept silently into each others arms. The day had come, and it was daunting and heart wrenching. I couldn’t admit to anyone exactly how hard this day was. I never wanted to say goodbye... Especially when I felt like I had been robbed of time.

I only had twenty one years with my Dad. He was sixty eight when he passed. t was sudden and a shock to us all. The only comfort I had was knowing that the heart attack killed him before he even realised what was happening. As a result of his diabetes, Dad would never have even felt the heart attack clinging to his left arm, shooting pain and tension into his heart, causing it to pump blood and life through him one last time before he fell, dragging the towels down with him.

As masses of people, both friends and family arrived to pay respects, it slowly starting dawning on me that this was really happening. I cannot express the sensation in any other way than dream like. A day which I knew I would have to come face to face with was here, now, sooner than any of us had anticipated.

Everyone was seated in the pews of the Salvation Army Church where dad and I used to both volunteer and attended on Sundays where we would see all our friends. Dad especially loved the music, not so much the preaching, it was beyond both of us, but Dad accepted it and went with it. I believe it gave him a sense of purpose and being, one that brought him closer to himself and gave him understanding.

Being in the church community showed dad that he was valued and appreciated, something that I believe he struggled with a lot in his later years, when he was getting older and was susceptible to illness. It motivated him and gave him a reason to wake up.

As we waited in the foyer of the church, Dads funeral song started playing, Shakin’ Stevens’ The Green Door, a familiar tune which plagued my childhood started playing. Taking a deep breathe, I took Andrews hand in mine, tightly gripping it with all the life I had in me, and we entered the church.

Tears were in a constant stream, flowing like a river down my pale face. My breathing was rapid and I could feel an anxiety attack clutching at the edges of my frail mind. I took a drink of water and breathed in slowly and deeply through my nose, holding it for what felt like an eternity, slowly exhaling through my mouth. All that seemed to come out was a low, weeping, heart breaking moan, which seemed to draw more pain with it.

By far, this was the hardest day I had ever experienced.

We took our seats, which to me, were all too familiar. I had sat in the front row many times before, but today was different. I wanted to relinquish into my skin, find some safety and peace of mind, but it didn’t come. I had to sit there and ride it out.

At that time, all I wanted was to see Dads smiling face one more time. To have him hold me in his arms and tell me all was going to be okay… But I knew that wasn’t going to happen. My mind wouldn’t let the thought go, and I was left questioning myself. Why couldn’t I just grasp reality and get it in my mind that Dad wasn’t coming back. He had been gone for five days and I still couldn’t fathom the fact that he was really gone. Forever left in thoughts and photographs from happier, simpler times.

The funeral started and soon it was time for Tania, Shontal and I to go up and read our messages to Dad.

Standing up, my legs were shaking and I could barely stand. My knees were weak and they didn’t want to support my own weight. I grabbed my sisters hands and slowly walked up to the lectern.

Tania spoke first, reading a eulogy she had written for dad. It summarised him perfectly and left us with many fond memories of Dad. The funny, caring, loyal and loving man he was, who would give the last of what he had if he knew someone else needed it more than he did.

Next it was time for Shontal to read a small bible verse and a small speech she had written, which left me in tears. How was I supposed to have the strength to read my poem? I could not follow after my big sisters. They had been so strong and I knew that I was not going to be able to compose myself enough to stand and read it without breaking down.

I slowly inhaled and stood in front of the microphone. My breath was shaky and the paper which held the words to my poem was shaking uncontrollably. I felt the tender hand of Tania run across my back and Shontal had her hand on my waist, giving me the courage that I so desperately needed.

I cleared my breath and softly spoke.

“I wrote this poem for Dad last month.” I slowly started, my voice was shaking and I was trying to control it as best I could before continuing.

“I wrote this poem for Dad last month, and was too afraid to share it with him because I was always worried I wouldn’t make him proud enough, despite him always being such a proud father of us all. This poem describes the wonderful and loving man our dad was and I hope he is looking over us today and smiling.”

The tears wouldn’t stop and they were staining my face, leaving raw red marks down my cheeks.

“Our dad is tough

made of flesh and blood

tears don’t escape his blue eyes

eyes that hold wisdom and power.

Our dad is strong

Five foot eleven inches

with an exterior hard to cut through

but deep inside he is a teddy bear.

Our dad is powerful

with calloused hands from years of gardening

and sixty eight years of experience

he is full of knowledge.

Our dad is devoted

Our dad is dedicated

Our dad is the greatest man.”

I looked at the coffin laying in front of me and cried uncontrollably. I could no longer keep my composure and I was crumbling.

I made my way back to my seat and held the delicate yellow rose in my fingers, twirling it and admiring its soft petals. I kept thinking of how dad would have loved the bright yellow petals of the roses, the deep red roses from his siblings and the white flowers for his grandchildren.

Dad always loved the brightest flowers. In his later years, dad would pick me flowers and put them in a vase in my room when he knew I wasn’t doing well, or even when he saw some flowers that he thought I would love.

It was then time for us to lay our flowers on his coffin. Taking my time I walked up to the coffin. Weeping, I laid the delicate flower on the smooth polished wood and placed my hand on the plaque. The cold metal brought me back to reality, and my salty tears dripped onto the casket.

Having on of his handkerchiefs, I wiped my helpless tears off the wood and made my way back to my seat. More tears quickly took place of the ones I had wiped away, and soon enough, I realised it was a wasted effort, as more kept coming.

The celebrant then read the committal,

“Since the earthly life of Bruce Alfred McLintock has come to an end, we commit his body to be cremated.

Earth to earth,

ashes to ashes,

dust to dust,

trusting in the infinite love of God

in Jesus Christ, our Lord

Amen”

With the official part of the funeral over, the pallbearers carried dad out, and placed him back in the hearse for his final drive to the crematorium.

It had started to rain, which was in typical dad fashion that it had to be raining on an already dismal day.

Many who were standing around the hearse were in tears and they spoke so highly of how well I had spoken, but that wasn’t on my mind. I just wanted to feel whole again and to put all this sadness behind me.

The only was my mind wanted to do that was to get intoxicated. To let the alcohol run through my veins and submerge me in tranquillity and fill me with the warmth that I felt I was lacking.

Soon, we were around friends and family at one of my dads favourite places, the Sydenham Bowling Club, where dad was a devout player, winning a few titles in the last three years that he had played, and was appointed as the greenskeeper.

Dad had such a passion for lawn bowls and for caring for the green, often spending five or six hours a day tidying up and keeping the green to the highest standard possible. Dad would get so much praise for his work and in the time he maintained it, I had never seen that green look or play as nicely as he had it.

As we were surrounded by all these people, I still felt like dad was going to walk through the doors any second, smiling and joking before taking his seat at the head of the table. But he never did…

To this day, seven months later, I still expect to see him walk through the doors, or to come up and hug me, putting all these lost pieces back together.

I know he isn’t coming back.

I have his ashes kept in a small urn in my room where I know he can watch over me and protect me. I have some in a ring on my finger which I never take off. I know he is always with me and I know that he would be so proud of all that I am doing now, and all that I am achieving in my life.