Losing a Friend

I've not been blogging for a few weeks, partly because the many tasks to be accomplished each day have been slightly more than usual, and partly because emotionally there have been some tough times recently. In the midst of those emotions it was important to retreat into the safe place within, so that the caring professional could stand to the front.

There are a number of people with varying kinds of cancers at varying stages, a good number of whom I would count as friends. At the beginning of the year, I thought that by this stage in the year I would have lost a good number of them through death. My thoughts haven't entirely happened, although there has been a loss of three from that group - two within the last month. These three deaths and their respective funerals have been tough. I've been here too long now to not care about the people involved. It is no longer (if it ever was) the loss of the life that matters, but instead the impact onto the close family and into congregational life. As the families have laughed and cried, some of the stories told I now share and know, for my family and the church family are entwined into the framework of who the people were.

The last of the three was particularly difficult (and I would question whether a funeral is ever easy). The lady involved was an elder, part of the group who were involved in calling me. She has cared for one or both of my children, ensured that my house was painted, sorted out my garden so the pram could get in, and become very much part of our family life. For the last three years she has known that death was coming, and particularly this year has been aware that these last few months were her last. And because of that she has set herself goals to live to - enjoying a 70th birthday party and a wedding - and then feeling that every day after these goals was a gift she didn't expect.

Her living so openly with death has allowed many people to tell her of how precious she was to them, and how her living had touched their lives. Unlike some people, she died in full knowledge that she was loved.

She was always immensely organised. She has had a funeral prepared since 1998, and so on her death I was handed a ready prepared order of service - seven hymns over two services with all the readings that were precious to her and spoke of her faith. A good friend of hers prepared a tribute for me to work with and then read. All I had to do really was to prepare prayers, and something meaningful and thoughtful for the family and close friends at the committal.

All funerals are tough, yet this has been particularly tough for I said goodbye to a friend and a confidante. I always knew the longer you stayed somewhere the tougher it became, but this was the first time it has been apparent just how tough.

However while I miss her, I also know she would have been the first person the day after to say "okay, lets get on" - and so we do. Although I'm not sure who is cutting the ribbon and the foil ready for Christingle making, or who will make the cheese scones. Meanwhile she continues to make us laugh as friends left with memories of her - for if there is a physical place called heaven then she has already rearranged the cupboards and organised everything into Tupperware boxes. And in her breaks she's standing at the gates taking in the scene and chatting to Peter, with her fly cigarette in hand.