It's been a week since my father's funeral and I am about ready to write this entry. I'm not saying I've spent the time since in tearful mourning, I'm not that type of person - neither would my father want me to do so.
But I've been reflecting on it. Thinking what it means to me - that and we've been trying to sort out all the policies and accounts that exist.
The funeral was quiet, my father did not want a eulogy or sermon. So we sat listening to music and reflecting in our own way. The choices for anyone who is interested were The Eagles' "Hotel California", music from "Once Upon a Time in America" and Dire Straits "Walk of Life", that last of which always makes me smile thinking of when my father would sing along getting the "woo-hoos" in the wrong place.
The crematorium (oh, yeah - I forgot to mention he did not want to be buried) was hardly full. We do not have a large family. My mother was there, as were my wife and her parents, and a few people from the nursing home where he'd been living for the last few months - and a representative of Waitrose supermarkets. My mother had worked for them before her retirement and they have a wonderful policy of looking after their own.
We asked for his ashes to be scattered in the garden of the crematorium but for it to be done with no ceremony. My mother did not want to attend this and take the emotional hit again so it would be done - sorry, should say was by now - a few days later.
It was a peaceful end. But now we must get one with life.