Features and blogging

I went to two funerals this week. One for a favourite uncle, held in his sunny back garden in south London – a joyous and beautiful day.
The next one, two days later, was far far away, so I attended from home watching the event by remote link. I cleared my desk at one in the morning, wore a favourite Vietnamese silk dress, dimmed the main lights. I lit a candle, switched on the flower lights, poured a gin and also brewed a cup of tea, being unsure which way my heart would go. Turns out I needed both, plus an entire box of tissues.
Words fail us writers sometimes, just like they do everyone else. Sometimes it’s internal and sometimes it’s due to – what’s that delicate phrase – unforseen circumstances.
In the midst of the upside-down passage of time that has laughingly called itself 2020 (as if it could even pretend to be a ‘normal’ year), a young boy, not quite a man, ran out of days. The details will stay with his family and friends who live miles away in Australia. Needless to say Thursday night’s farewell (a rainy Friday morning in Sydney) was a photo-filled, memory-pitted, music-rich, heartfelt 90 minutes of pure love.
There have been many complaints, lately, of how life is not the same online – how we hate all the online calls, how tired we are at the end of a Zoom-filled day. All true.
But think of it this way: if it wasn’t for the whole world having learned how to do everything online, we who live far from that family would never have been able to attend this hugely important event, and for that we must be grateful. Far more importantly, if you’re reading this: well, that means you have a life, no matter how Zoom-tricky it is.
Last night’s theme of gratitude resonates today. I’m taking the day off and heading into the heatwave to plant the snowdrops, daffs and hollyhocks that have been patiently waiting for damp earth. I’ll think of B every time they flower. My keyboard sits quietly beside the printed order of service – I’ll be so glad to take a look every now and then at the amazing pictures and poems that filled my home with love and light in the small hours of last night.
I’d rather not attend any more farewells this year, least of all remote ones, but it’s good to know we can.