Today, we went to a funeral. It was J’s grandmother and, for reasons not suitable for the internet, I never met her. She never met the girls and, as far as I know, she didn’t know about the new baby. We went to support J’s mum and I’m very glad that we did. I love watching her patently adore her boys, her boys who are 42 and 39, and she is so very proud of them. It’s lovely to see.
I should also point out that I am not at all religious. I was christened as a four year old, went to Sunday School and then didn’t. There’s probably more to it than that and perhaps one day, there will be a time where it is comfortable to talk about things like religion, particularly in a country where religion is a touchy subject at best and a case of lighting the touchpaper at worst. Anyway, this was obviously a religious funeral and that’s where I found it all very odd.
I love the prayers and the psalms. The writing is beautiful and somehow familiar, in that way that you know a Beatles song, or the characters in ET despite having never knowingly seen the film. It is somehow inspiring, it fills you up with something, optimism perhaps and you, or I found myself fervently hoping that what the vicar said was true.
Wouldn’t it be lovely if there was something more, if this was just our life on earth, just the beginning and we did leave here to go somewhere better? Would it make the idea of mortality any less scary, would it allow your average person to think more deeply when the thought strikes you in the middle of the night and you are paralysed with fear, would it make people who are going to die, knowingly about to die, more at peace?
I found the words uplifting, the idea of a woman living for 90 years, a widow for 40, with 29 great grandchildren, in a room full of people there to say goodbye. The songs were incongruous, jarring you out of the words but the doors opened and the sun streamed in and with it, any feeling that I had of higher beings or other worlds.
Theology fascinates me, the history of the bible, the values behind other religious writings, but does spirituality? I’m not sure, but I do know that my views have changed since having children. Transience is not as scary before little parts of your soul walk around in the world with you, but it terrifies me now. I haven’t taught them enough yet, haven’t had enough ridiculous conversations about favourite wild animals, the best ice creams, haven’t kissed them enough.
This is a post that doesn’t end easily or succinctly, as it is simply too big for my brain sometimes. It is something I need to ponder and mull over and not when I’m tired and missing my babies who are with my parents because of today’s funeral.
What are your thoughts?
Fairy Lights and Fear 