Page 10 - summer edition2 2023

Good Grief Barrie Mahoney

‘I don’t like funerals‘ alongside ‘I don’t like hospitals’ are two comments that I often hear. These
comments always make me cringe, and I always feel like responding with ‘Does anyone?’, but I usually
manage to bite my lip and smile. It is a truism that none of us like to dwell on illness and death, but both
are a fact of life that we mostly conveniently ignore until it hits us when we are least prepared.

George, our next-door neighbour, passed into the Light a few days ago. He was a wonderful, kind, gentle
and generous man – a delight to have as a neighbour and a friend. He loved his garden and would spend
many happy hours tending plants, cutting the grass, or sitting on his garden seat, sometimes with
Maureen, his wife. Over the last few years, he had been suffering terribly with dementia, which reached
the final stages about six months ago when he was admitted into hospital. His last few days were
tormented, filled with moments of anger and violence towards family, friends, and medical staff alike.

The last time that I saw George was in his garden. He looked very disturbed, not at all like the George that
I knew so well and spoke to me over the garden fence. ‘Please take me home; I need to go home.’ It took
a few moments for me to realise that George was asking to be taken to his parent’s old ‘home’, a home
that no longer existed, but only in his poor, tormented mind.

Sometimes, George would be seen wandering the streets. Occasionally, he would be collected by the
police and brought home. It reached a point when he did not know his wife and son. He quickly entered a
world of confusion, torment and darkness that worsened over time.

A few days ago, George’s wife, Maureen, leant over the garden fence. ‘George died yesterday,’ she said
bluntly, holding back the tears. Even though we had expected this months ago, it is also a shock when
Death calls. I nodded, and held Maureen’s arm, she was gently shivering as she spoke, giving a detailed
account of George’s final hours. I let her speak without interruption; there is little than can be said during
these moments of acute misery and shock. Yes, it was a blessing that he avoided more distress, but that
doesn’t take away the feeling of loss and sadness.

After a few minutes, I asked ‘When is the funeral likely to be? We would like to be there.’

‘Oh no, there won’t be a funeral. George isn’t having one, and I’m not having one either. There is no
point. George is gone, he won’t be there. Why should we spend all that money?’

I nodded. After a lengthy pause, I asked, ‘Will you be there at the cremation?’

‘No, the undertaker will see him off. I’ll put his ashes in the garden. I thought maybe over there,”’ said
Maureen briskly, pointing to a bare patch of earth in the garden.

Funerals are not for the departed, but for those left behind. Many believe that the souls of the departed
are present, but no one knows for certain. The funeral serves the important purpose of helping those left
behind to begin the grieving process and to say their final goodbyes. There is comfort in letting shared
tears flow at fond memories, as well as smiling and laughing together when remembering amusing
incidents and particular sayings of the departed. Perhaps a favourite piece of music will be played, a
favourite hymn sung, a favourite poem or prayer read. Sometimes, funerals are the only times that
families meet after many years estranged from one another. Funerals are often occasions where
bitterness, arguments, regrets and misunderstandings are finally put aside. It is time to forgive and move
on when we are reminded that none of us can escape death, and that we are all walking towards it.

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