LB’s funeral is today.


LB’s funeral is today.

In the last ten days, I’ve said new things like “The coffin looks great, thank you” (which it does) and “Yes, let’s do the ‘scattering’ after the committal, during the song”. We’ve agreed ‘order of service’, no limousines, an outside, rather than chapel, service. I’ve remembered how to spell cemetery (after googling it). We’ve sat with LB in the ‘chapel of rest’, handed over things we’d like to be buried with him (bus timetables, his first aid book, die cast bus/truck models, a photo of (just you and …) me, the Sweaty Betty catalogue, his bling), checked out his woodland ‘plot’, and wept.

Friends and family have taken over necessary tasks in almost invisible ways, doing their absolute best to reduce the hideousness of what’s happened.  The collective feeling, commitment and action is remarkable. Makes me think that change is possible.

We’re grubbing around trying to find new ways of being a family, trying to incorporate the devastation into what we had. I’m not sure how this will work, or what we should be doing really. We all just miss him too much. Too fucking much.

I don’t want to go today. I want to hang out with LB and chat about where Steve Wright was born, about Irish lorries and County Mayo. I want to help him draw up his plans for his depot and have a chuckle about what the girl he took a shine to on the speed ferry a few years ago might be doing now. I want to answer every one of his questions until he’s finished asking them without getting exasperated. I want to give him the biggest hug ever and not let go, but I know he hates that. High five and bit of a bounce. Coffee cake and ginger beer.

It’s going to be a very long day.