Funeral

My mum went to the funeral of the young son of a friend. He died in a car accident. (Word is he was pissed) He'd been a great football player, a handsome, sporty guy. The apple of his mother’s eye. 

It was a tragedy, yes it was.

Jannette was there, of course, inconsolable, I couldn’t, not one could, help but be distraught for her. Kane was, of course, holding her steady as they entered the church for their beloved son’s funeral.

“I almost couldn’t look at her,” said mum. “Smart, vibrant, no nonsense Jannette, almost incapable of putting one foot in front of the other in her grief. It was terrible to witness.”

The church was packed, as it tends to be when it is someone so young who dies. People come out for that, as there always seems to be a terrible cosmic injustice to someone dying so young, no matter where the fault lies. Not that there should be any judgement in death.

“They spoke so highly of Jacob.”

“As you would expect,” I said.

“Well, he had done so many things, played the piano, toured the world, just finished his law degree, was taking flying lessons, still captained the old grammarian's football team, he had the world at his feet.”

“The Old Smithton 1sts,” I said.

“The priest said that we could all take great comfort in the knowledge that he's kicking the football around in heaven for all eternity.”

“In a better place, hey?”

“I thought they were all nuts when they all said Amen,” said Mum. “Dust. Jacob’s dust. That’s just life. What kind of comfort is it giving that kind of cruel, false hope?”

“It's all right mum, because daddies in heaven now,” I said. 

Mum knew I was talking about my father, her husband. (Surely, I don’t need to tell you that that was sarcasm? Oh my sense of humour...)

She laughed. “He was a good man, you father.” She tousled my hair. “He’d think they were all nuts, too.”

“Your husband for 50 years,” I said.

“Yes, 50 years,” she repeated. “It was just like it was yesterday that we were getting married.”

“Do you miss him?” I asked.

“Every minute of every day,” she said. She looked off into the distance, like her life was running through before her eyes.

“I miss him too,” I said.

“I could have done with another 50 years,” she said. “The first 50 just wasn’t long enough.” Her eyes turned just a little glassy, as she gazed out the back window.

She looked back at me and smiled. Wide eyes momentarily. “Come on, let’s get lunch ready, it’s not going to prepare itself.”

“I liked Jacob,” I said.

“Yes, he was a nice boy,” said mum.

“It is a terrible thing.”

“If only he’d called his parents…”

“Life is full of if onlys,” I said.

“You would never drink and drive, would you?” asked mum.

“No mum, you know I don’t drink.”

“You would call me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, mum.”

“It wouldn’t matter what time it was.”

“Don’t you think I am a little old for that now?”

“No,” said mum.