Uh, Funerals.

On Monday the 29th of August 2022, my Grandfather passed away peacefully in his sleep. Having suffered from 84 year’s of acute stubbornness, coupled with early onset ignorance, my Grandfather eventually succumbed to his litany of mental impediments, due to complications from a concoction of underlying ailments, such as COVID, diabetes and pancreatic cancer. I’m not really someone that could be accused of being emotionally available, nor would I regard myself as stunted by repressed intimacy. But I must admit that I didn’t cry. Though I was never close to my Grandfather, I think my subdued demeanour can be attributed to my capacity to compartmentalise grief. I’ve always processed emotions in a very pragmatic way. Perhaps I’m just too matter of fact. Too logical. To me it’s a simple case that someone was there, then they’re not. Not much that can be done to change that fact, so why try to complicate what is a very simple fact of life.

You know what my instinct was when my mother phoned me? To start writing. Maybe as a cathartic means of grieving, that I just couldn’t express verbally? I’m not sure. All I know is that it is the only real creative outlet at my disposal to convey my thoughts on an incident that should provoke a more visceral reaction. To me it’s just odd being in that moment, knowing that I will look back on this with absolute clarity, as an event immortalised in my subconscious forever. More so because of the profound effect this has had on my Nan. A woman capable of such compassionate humility, that it is almost incongruous for her to be married to someone so antagonising and taciturn. Yet despite this marital dissonance, my Nan loved him regardless.

I have always been an empathetic crier. Voluntarily shedding tears on other people’s behalf. But trying to console my Nan, as she fails to process the shock of her loss and finding herself trapped in these verbal cul-de-sacs, is probably the most receptive to someone’s emotions I’ve ever felt. The hopeless submission of loss and guilt at not having the opportunity to say goodbye to her husband was palpable. A life that for the past 60 years was entwined by the bonds of matrimonial kinship. For as long as I could remember, my Nan has always looked the same. Whether as a kid or an adult, my perception of her remained steadfast. The way people you are familiar with retain this perpetual facade, until you see pictures of them from a decade ago. My Nan’s superficial frailty always belied her innate strength, which for the first time appears diminished.

The saddest part of all is that my Nan wasn’t there to say goodbye to him, as a result of my grandfather being isolated in the COVID ward. Even when she was granted access to see him after his death, she was prohibited from kissing him goodbye because of the risk of infection. Mourning the end of a 60 year marriage, without the capacity to express your love for someone before they die.