I'd only met him briefly in the past couple of years. I've studied and worked with his partner and she's become my friend.
I gathered a vivid impression of him from her accounts of their life together and by his towering reputation in his field.
It was hard to connect that to the vacant man in the wheelchair who needed to be spoon-fed.
None of us can ever be sure what lies ahead.
His younger son's eulogy deeply moved me. He was obviously a much loved father, yet he also gave so much to his work and community.
While that created enormous good, there was also a shadow side, said his son, a cost to his family who bore his absence.
His son paused, as if to gather himself, then resolutely continued. He spoke with simple clarity about the pain caused when his parents' marriage ended and his father created a new life.
He directly addressed my friend, who sat in the front row before him, the woman with whom his father had created that new life. He thanked her for the incredible care she had offered his father, that enabled him to spend his last long years at home and die a peaceful death there surrounded by people who deeply loved him.
And the son acknowledged too that it was only through that partnership that his father was able to give so much to the world, especially in India where he spent a great deal of his later life, where his reputation and influence are towering.
He spoke of these old, deep wounds with gentleness and clarity: this choice my father made hurt so much — and yet it brought about so much good too. To give voice to both these truths seems to me both gracious and courageous.
It's all the more laudable because funerals don't always bring out the best in the families left behind. Auctioneer Brian Hayward's seen every sort of bad behaviour after decades of organising estate sales, like people who pulled with moving vans just hours after an elderly collector's death, days before a will (or its lack) was revealed.
We've all heard stories — or perhaps been players in them — of old grudges being revived at funerals, families arguing bitterly over arrangements or who shouldn't be invited, disputes over who-gets-what that create ongoing feuds. Our age of blended or second families creates ever more potential for tension.
There is also the tendency towards revisionism, although those older than I might call it discretion. Last month I sat in a freezing Catholic church through a eulogy that mentioned early marriage and motherhood but omitted entirely that Nana kicked out that ne'er-do-well first husband and later remarried, a long and happy partnership. That seemed a rather remarkable omission.
Yet it may well have been at Nana's own instruction. She did a good job of making her wishes known.
And this is so important. Our culture has become largely hopeless when it comes to talking openly about death and preparing for it. When my stepfather died last year, I realised I knew nothing about death's logistics.
Funeral directors have created an industry whereby you can pay them a lot of money and not have to learn anything about it. They'll take care of it, in their hushed voices and sober suits.
But if you want to be more involved and especially if you don't want to just go along with conventional choices, you need to know what to do in advance. Despite what you may be told at the hospital or by funeral directors themselves, you can make all the arrangements yourself. But there's quite a lot to consider, both logistics and paperwork, and you'll need to have a plan in the drawer ready to go.
It's a kindness to those we leave behind to be clear about how we want to approach death. Advanced medical directives – a simple legal document that spells out what medical intervention you wish to receive or not — are even more important than writing out the order of your funeral service. I'll include links to more information and some touching stories, at www.facebook.com/rachelrose.writer
While cremation is now more common than burial in New Zealand, it's not particularly environmentally friendly because of the fossil-fuel derived energy it requires and the pollution it creates.
I was surprised and pleased to learn last year that Whanganui has a natural burial park, where bodies are interred in a simple shroud in shallower graves without headstones.
There's no embalming fluids or varnished hardwood coffins to leach toxins into the ground, just a swift return to the elements, as it has been for our ancestors for thousands of years.
