Lili
Adapted extract from a circular letter.
My mother was too precious to be handled by strangers. So when she died I became the 'Funeral Director'. Thank goodness the family felt as I did.
Mercifully my mother died at home. She had been cooking for my sister, who was due back from Australia the following morning early.
At about 11am she felt unwell. It was Monday the 13th March, 1995. She went to the sitting room to sit, and my wonderful stepfather brought her water and coffee, and called me. I was thankfully within walking distance - I was about to go when another call said 'Right Away'.
When I arrived she was already going, it was as fast as that. The doctor and ambulance arrived within minutes and tried all the resuscitation methods.
I asked what the position was and they replied that she was dead. I looked at my stepfather and said 'then let us stop'.
We agreed that we would like to put her in the spare room, which is a cool North-facing room, and the house being a bungalow made it easier. The ambulance crew of two and our doctor were so kind and helped us, even to tying a silk scarf under her chin and over her head to keep her mouth closed. We added a rubber sheet beneath her, an electric fan beside her, drew the curtains, placed a beautiful bowl of hyacinths nearby and with gentle kisses closed the door.
There was no need for washing, but we soon undressed her and put on a cotton nightgown, left rolled to the waist as a precaution. Actually there was no emission, beyond the little there had been as the medical team worked so hard on her. She remained sweet and fresh until we closed the coffin. We had put her in the coffin on Wednesday evening, and closed it the following morning at 10am.
The crematorium was booked for 10.30am Thursday the16th. It may seem strange or callous, but let me just say that I entered into a state of 'mission'. Perhaps my mother knew that by giving me these last loving things to do she gave me nurturing, balm to the soul ... actually lots of things to do.
And I could not have done any of it if I had not been prepared, which is why I write this.
Just as one prepares lovingly for a new baby, so when a much-loved parent reached their 82nd year, one should have thought of the inevitable.
I attended a day in London run by the Natural Death Centre, who basically advocate 'do-it-yourself funerals'. There were details of coffins you could order that would be sent ready to assemble. I ordered a six foot wood veneer coffin that looked every bit the same as the £500 models usually seen, and it cost £50. This we stored in the garage for about a year.
I said to my husband, 'we must make that coffin, because if I felt as I felt last week and mumsie were to die, I wouldn't have the heart' ... So we did and it took us a couple of days to get it right, even to painting clouds on the inside of the lid!
For a large man, a strong coffin would be very heavy, and probably not go into an estate car like the large 800 Volvo we had (which just took our 73" coffin diagonally) - a small van might be needed. We used a piece of carpet to protect the floor and our lengths of broom stick as rollers to slide the coffin in and out.
Mother knew I had made lovely white cotton embroidered linings, pillow and 'apron' and giving me a big hug had said it was the most loving thing to do.
Two months before her death, I had been to the crematorium and discussed a service without undertakers. The superintendent was most kind, and having received satisfactory answers to his questions concerning the funeral's dignity, and practical points like who would carry the coffin, and what it was made of, he went through the four papers with me. One he would fill in for his records when the cremation was actually due - which he later did. One was for the doctor to fill in. A second doctor had called that first evening and confirmed the death as is necessary ... cardiac arrest and bronchial pneumonia. Another form was for the next of kin, which my stepfather filled in, and finally, one concerned the ashes, their disposal and collection. We could collect them the day following the cremation, and in fact found that they were in a plastic container like a brown screw top jar, in a shoe-sized box, small and precious. As I have been doing pottery, I have made a square casket decorated with blue fleur-de-lis and lilies of the valley, also a Greek design.
We had to register the death, and obtained extra copies at £2-50 each. The certificate was free. The crematorium charged £210, including £110 for their help and advice.
We ordered printed service sheets after we had all decided what we wanted. Our choice was for our dear priest to speak after the coffin had been born in by six wonderful coffin bearers - a grandson, three sons-in-law, a granddaughter's husband, and another granddaughter's fiancè. I dearly wished I could have had a photograph of that, mummy would have been so proud. Entry was to the music of Mahler.
Father read the words of Cardinal Mindszentys' discourse on 'Mothers'. Even angels are not charged with the care of souls to bring up and love.
Then my sisters and I each read a prayer, psalm or chose an item, and a niece read something her sister in Australia sent, as she sadly was the only 'flesh and blood' missing.
Geoffrey spoke and read words written by my mother. Father blessed the coffin. Iincidentally, the crematorium had accepted him as the witness to vouch that he has seen the coffin closed and to confirm that it did indeed contain the person whose name was on a small engraved plate on the lid.) And, to the music of the prisoners' chorus from Beethoven's Fidelio, the curtain closed.
As we left the organist played 'Roses of Picardy' which really finished me.
Her things will be left untouched. She can come back any time she likes, but I am sure she would not want to and knows we will be reunited. The clothes had become a great nuisance ... were they black, or brown or navy? The stick which was forever getting lost will stay by the front door. Her only good eye had done too much.
We will miss her dreadfully, it is all the little things really, more than the big ones, that cause the heart to drop and miss a beat ... but heaven will be wondering what has hit it!
This webpage forms part of the Global Ideas Bank (www.globalideasbank.org).
Book Orders: The Before and After book in which this piece appears is out of print. To order any of the other books that make up the Global Ideas Bank.
To make a comment or to send an update, please e-mail the Global Ideas
Bank at rhino@dial.pipex.com and
please say which web page address you are commenting on.
";
echo $mb_link;
echo "
";
if ( session_is_registered('navigation')) {
echo " Return to Message Board's last display of selected messages";
}
?>