“That’s lovely, who are you marrying?” she said. He replied: “You.” Without that incredibly brave gesture, I wouldn’t be here.
My parents met on a blind date. Mum was the extra. However, Dad fell in love on sight.
The aforementioned Jack met my mum and promptly turned to his grandson Clive and said: “What are you mucking around at?” So, after three weeks, they got engaged and they married three months later in May of 1968. They have now been married for 54 years.
I mention this because I have attended two funerals in a week. Every funeral starts with a love story. Some may not be together anymore, but love was.
One funeral was for a patriarch, the other a matriarch who had both lived wonderful lives, but both went very quickly with no time for the family to get used to a new existence.
The worlds of my lovely friends were thrown off their axis, never to be the same again.
The lives of their children were devastated by the loss of the person who understood them better than their parents.
The person they felt safe to bare their soul to knowing there would be no judgment, just wisdom and a nana or grandad smell.
I am one of a very exclusive club at 51. Both of my parents are still alive and I am beyond grateful for that, in fact, I drove them to the out-of-town funeral that we went to on Monday.
My childhood best friend lost her beautiful dad, and our families had a special connection. He had lost the love of his life three years earlier and it was wonderful that they wove her memory into his service. They were a team who at the time of her death had been married 55 years.
This is a terrible age if you can’t handle a funeral because, in the past year, more than 12 of my friends have lost parents.
In one particular instance, one poor friend lost her father and then her mother within a month. Nothing could prepare you for that. Essentially you become an orphan.
This girlfriend had a very similar relationship with her mother, that I have with mine.
The first person I talk to every day is my mum and generally, she is also the last person I speak with.
She is my best friend and I can’t fathom what my life would be like without her. I simply can’t get my head around that concept which is why the respect I have for my friends who are able to speak at the funeral of their parent is immense.
There are two things that get me every time at a funeral. My brave, broken friends speaking to honour their parent and a haka. Even if I manage to hold it together until the end, if a haka is performed to lead the body out, I’m gone for all money.
Sometimes I don’t think I’m robust enough for this thing called life.
The level of unfairness feels too great. However, Bill Gates said it best when he said: “Life is not fair – get used to it.”
That is really tricky to do when the hurt you feel for your friends at the funeral of their loved one is palpable.
It’s that horrible feeling where your tears get stuck in your throat and nothing you say will be good enough because you can’t bring their parent back.
There are a lot of quotes about grief and loss and love, but saying “grief is the price you pay for love” to someone who is adjusting to life without their special someone, is quite frankly unfeeling. The saying “too soon?” springs to mind.
My yardstick for living is my best friend. She is 52 and has suffered more loss than anyone I know. Her mother died when she was 3, her sister passed away when she was in her 30s and then her childhood sweetheart and dad of her three children lost his battle with cancer at age 49.
The end of another love story, yet she remains the most positive person that I know. She simply refuses to let grief define her and is simply grateful for every day. It’s very difficult not to adopt the same attitude when you look at what she has overcome.
To those who have lost and continue to live with a gap that will never be filled, I am in awe of your strength to go on when you may just want to turn the moon, the stars and the sun off. Every funeral has a love story at its heart, even if it’s the relationship they had with you.
