Christmas card from beyond.
 

Yesterday was my friend Tom's funeral. His family, friends and colleagues gathered at the church, bore witness to his life and his passing and held a wake afterwards at the Catholic Club, where we raised a glass or three to the big man. Funny, I call him the big man, but his coffin looked so small....but anyway, it was done, we said our goodbyes, the flag on the Town Hall was still flying at half mast and I think we all had a sense of closure.

I was glad of that closure. I was in conversation with him when he collapsed, he was responding to something I'd just said (for the life of me I cannot recall what either of us said) when his expression changed suddenly, to...bemusement, confusion....just before he stumbled and fell backwards. Since that night, from time to time, especially in the small hours, I see his face and that expression very clearly. Don't get me wrong, I am not devastated by his passing. I am saddened, and I miss him, but I am not distraught. I have, however, I think been a little in shock. He never regained consciousness, the words of his which I cannot now recall, were his last and I feel as if i saw his death, despite not being there when he breathed his last breath.

So, the closure of the funeral and the wake, was needed.

Last night, for the first night since his death, I slept soundly and didn't see his face. I woke feeling brighter than I have all week and went out to Leeds, where I spent the whole day Christmas shopping, listening to buskers and even chomping on some roast chestnuts from a vendor. I thoroughly enjoyed it:) I found everything I needed to find and returned home feeling extremely smug.

In my absence the postman had been. In amongst the letters, council papers and junkmail were three Christmas cards. One in particular caught my eye. The envelope was addressed in a beautifully calligraphic hand: Tom.

He must have posted his cards the day of the Council meeting. The sentiment inside was lovely. Utterly charming as usual. So, now my last words from him are not lost to that dreadful night after all.

*Raises a glass to the big man*

All the best my friend.

Ah, excellent ending. :thumb:

Good for you, Dana. I lost my father the same way. We were talking then his eyes rolled back and he was gone. I tried to revive him but it was no use.

After a while, a good while, I accepted it. And came to think of my presence at the time of his calling as a blessing and not a failure.

Its a privilege to be the last person someone speaks with before they move on. But it doesn't always feel like one. Carry the moment with pride and humility. Its a moment few are chosen to experience.

*Raises a glass to the big man*

As we speak !!!!

lovely story. you must feel proud to have known him.
sorry for your loss.

Very nice goodbye.

Times like this I can only nod my head in awknowlegement and humility.

Experiences such as yours are always added to my internal "Book of The Big Picture", DanaC.

Blessings to you and yours.

One of the most wonderful things about the Cellar, is that I can share something like this with people whom, despite the fact we have never met, I consider to be friends.

Merry Christmas and may 2007 bring you all good things.