and the beat goes on

Day in the Life of a Little Girl,
It is amazing to me how I can be so busy, and every day is tumbling into the next and yet I when I come to write something here I draw a blank. I guess even goddesses can’t be interesting all the time!

Tomorrow is Mr FD’s mothers funeral. We only expect about a dozen people at the most. She only has two surviving siblings and they are both too frail to travel. Two grandchildren are unable to make the journey home due to distance, and let’s face it, their Grandmother has passed on, it makes no difference to her if they are there or not. They said their goodbyes to her in the last few weeks anyway. Better to do so when alive than dead!

We have been told to we can only have a short service, and Mr FD is to make the eulogy short. Brisbane seems to be a bit of a conveyor belt for funerals. In and out and another one waiting. I have told our children I want to be buried in the town where I grew up and from the church where Mr FD and I were married – I don’t want them to have to rush. The great unwashed will need time to honour me anyway…

MIL is being cremated so another one of those horrible endings where we stand and watch the hearse drive away and are left feeling empty.

I haven’t seen Petit Fille for almost two weeks now and I miss her dreadfully. Poor little thing will be at the funeral as well. She had two great grandmothers for awhile, and now she has only one. She will be a nice distraction and I need a cuddle as my pick me up.

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13 thoughts on “and the beat goes on

  1. Closure. All of us will face it.

    You say “MIL is being cremated so another one of those horrible endings where we stand and watch the hearse drive away and are left feeling empty.” – to me, brought up in a religion that only allows cremation, it is quite the reverse. When I see a burial, I feel incomplete – like you have left the person behind, alone.

    We are all nothing but a combination of beliefs and habits, with some chemicals thrown in.

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    • How true, it is all customs and traditions. One of the criticisms that some Australians make about other nationalites who settle here is that they maintain their “home” traditions rather than adopting ours, but I always think that if I moved to another country there are many Australian cultural traits and customs that I would take with me and continue. Our cremation is done by professionals with no family involvement – we just get a little box of ashes back a couple of weeks later.

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      • I never thought of cremation as a custom, or a tradition, as much as a choice one makes based on their religious beliefs. Mom was a devout Episcopalian and chose to be cremated, done by professionals at a “local crematorium.” Because we were taking her ashes to California, I had to go to the mortuary and pick up the box of ashes–probably one of the weirder experiences of my life, carrying her remains to the car…and then storing them for a year. A lot of people (I don’t know if this is a custom or what) keep their loved one’s ashes. A friend says, “I have dad on the coffee table.” Another woman I know had some of her mother’s (and her dog’s) ashes spun into a glass orb (separate orbs). Each orb sits on a light stand. “And here’s mom,” she said to me when we walked into her bathroom. But who am I to judge?

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  2. It’s a bit sad to see the funerals of old people so sparsely attended. When a person has lived a long and full life however, chances are most of their friends and acquaintances are gone already. My mother was lucky to have half a church filled with mourners; she didn’t go out much after her Alzheimer’s got worse, plus she was a shy person anyway, with very few friends. Her nephews from Japan managed to make it for the service, which was nice.

    The empty feeling is always there, whether your loved one’s body is cremated or buried. I hope you and Mr. FD find some comfort in the presence of your children and the Petite Fille.

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    • They moved around so much that they lost touch with many people and then of course when you get to 90 most have passes before. There were about a dozen, inc.uding some from the home and a few nuns. When my Dad died there were so many mouners that the undertakers phoned the police and advised them they would have to direct traffic through the main part of town! That is what comes from living your whole life in the one place and having the reputation of “an honest man”. Dad was also only 76 when he died.

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    • She is a blessing. She stole more than a few hearts. One relative said he couldn’t take his eyes off her because she is so beautiful. If he says the same in a few years no doubt we will be a little worried about him!

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  3. Dread the day when your time comes. I expect a state funeral with lillies carpeting the way for your horse drawn glass carriage. I of course will be amongst the wailing mourners throwing ourselves on the ground. ….. can I have your big stick when you die?

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