In which everyone is lovely
Feb. 28th, 2026 10:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
baroque_mongooseI spoke to both sisters last night over Zoom. I think the best way to sum things up is that all of us are basically all right, but the whole thing is weird. It was when Dad died a few years ago, as well. That, in fact, was quite similar, in that he also wanted to go; however, although he had become increasingly frail and towards the end we were pretty sure he didn't have long, he was at least managing reasonably well at home until his final admission to hospital, after which he died quite quickly (we have a grim joke in our family that he simply couldn't stand the food in Lancaster Infirmary, so he wasn't going to live long after he went in there... and, as with all good grim jokes, there's a fair bit of truth in it. He hated hospital food, and Lancaster, sadly, has one of the worst reputations for that.) When someone is old, infirm, and has made it very clear they want to go, and then they do, grief isn't the biggest part of the survivors' reaction. It's there, but it's not dominant. The dominant reaction is shock, even when you knew very well it was coming. It's far worse to lose someone suddenly, out of the blue; when that happens, you get both the shock (dialled up to 100%) and the grief.
Anyway. I e-mailed d'Artagnan about half an hour after she died; I didn't need to tell the other two, as they are both also friends of my sister so they knew already (and, in fact, I woke up the next morning to an e-mail of condolence from Athos). The next morning I e-mailed everyone else who needed to know, and, honestly, people have been amazing. I have previously mentioned my friends with the autistic toddler; well, the toddler's dad immediately offered to ferry me up north for the funeral, saying it would be a good reason to go and visit his father. His father lives in Bolton, so... well, yes, it's north, but Kendal is still quite a way on beyond Bolton. I am most deeply appreciative and grateful, because I was very much fearing another long taxi journey. While I did get two very nice taxi drivers last time, it's much better to travel with someone you already know well, especially in such circumstances. I was also able to tell my sisters that a large number of people they'd never met were currently praying for them; and they will need it, as there will now be a huge amount of stuff to sort out, not least selling the house (which is an undertaking in itself - it will need, at the very least, a deep clean and some repainting before it goes on the market).
There is a little poem by Joyce Grenfell I've always liked, and it seems appropriate to quote it here:
"If I should die 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 your usual selves that I have known.
Weep if you must;
Parting is hell,
But life goes on,
So sing as well."
Anyway. I e-mailed d'Artagnan about half an hour after she died; I didn't need to tell the other two, as they are both also friends of my sister so they knew already (and, in fact, I woke up the next morning to an e-mail of condolence from Athos). The next morning I e-mailed everyone else who needed to know, and, honestly, people have been amazing. I have previously mentioned my friends with the autistic toddler; well, the toddler's dad immediately offered to ferry me up north for the funeral, saying it would be a good reason to go and visit his father. His father lives in Bolton, so... well, yes, it's north, but Kendal is still quite a way on beyond Bolton. I am most deeply appreciative and grateful, because I was very much fearing another long taxi journey. While I did get two very nice taxi drivers last time, it's much better to travel with someone you already know well, especially in such circumstances. I was also able to tell my sisters that a large number of people they'd never met were currently praying for them; and they will need it, as there will now be a huge amount of stuff to sort out, not least selling the house (which is an undertaking in itself - it will need, at the very least, a deep clean and some repainting before it goes on the market).
There is a little poem by Joyce Grenfell I've always liked, and it seems appropriate to quote it here:
"If I should die 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 your usual selves that I have known.
Weep if you must;
Parting is hell,
But life goes on,
So sing as well."
