Thursday 26th March
I really don’t like the mornings at the moment. I take ages to try and face the day. What else will be thrown at us? What will we have to deal with today? How many times will I cry?
It is so hard to shake off these feelings of sorrow and pain. I miss everything about my son. We go for a coffee, not at our usual place, but I’m sitting there, thinking, he should be in that third chair, next to my husband. I try to hide myself from anyone who might recognise me. I can’t face any sort of conversation when I’m feeling like this.
And then we visit the surgery on the way home, and one of the pharmacists gives me a hug, and tells me what an amazing young man our son was, and that she remembers him from years ago. Tears.
We’ve been delaying our return home, as we have arranged an appointment with the undertaker from the funeral director’s.
He stays for over an hour. It is a real struggle to get through. We have to discuss hymns, music, order of service, cars, flowers, the coffin, grave, announcements. It’s all too much. But he carries out the meeting with a dignity and kindness that we need and appreciate.
He also asks us to gather together some clothes for our son to be dressed in. And any other items that we want to go in the coffin. Tears.
I want to see my son, one last time in the Chapel of Rest. This is allowed. More tears.
Tomorrow we must make an appointment to register our son’s passing with the Registrar’s Office. This probably won’t get done until next week. Then it’s Easter weekend. So the date set for the funeral will be Wednesday 8th April at 11am.
Such a long, long time to wait.
As soon as the undertaker leaves the house we both break down. Again.
Our son, our darling boy. This just shouldn’t be happening.
We have a bite to eat, then we go down to our younger son’s place. We had to get out of our house, even for a little while. It is good to talk with him, and we discuss music to be played and perhaps words to be spoken. Another emotional time. But we are supporting one another.
It is a clear evening as we walk home, and I wonder which star belongs to my son, looking down upon us.