My Gran died when I was 13, I remember it vividly but with also with that tint of preconception that showers down on to all thing that have long since happened.
There are three things from her time in hospital, death and funeral most lucidly that I remember. Her eyes the last time I saw her, and the want within them to be freed from the prison the stroke and two heart attacks had put her in. Watching myself sleep in bed at the exact time she died, and the poem she had chosen to be read at her funeral.
The first and second things on that list I can’t share, they are my own snapshots and memories to process, the third I want to.
The poem is called ‘If I Should Go’ by Joyce Grenfell
If I Should Go – Joyce Grenfell
If I should go before the rest of you
Break not a flower nor inscribe a stone
Nor when I’m gone speak in a Sunday voice
But be the usual selves that I have known
Weep if you must
Parting is hell
But life goes on
So sing as well.
I’m not sure why this popped into my head today, but as I was unsuccessful in finding my own words today, I chose to share those from a time that meant so much, and affected me so deeply.