I was thinking some more about the funeral today. You know, grief is weird, especially at Christmas. Because one moment, you are explaining how to play a really good card game; and the next moment, you are remembering the aftermath of the funeral you went to last week. Went to sounds quite casual, doesn't it? Attended. Does that sound better? Anyway. One moment you are quite happily in the bath, with bath bombs and bath caviar and Yankee Candle store candles, feeling all Christmassy and reading your Chalet School Christmas book- and the next moment you are crying, and you're not quite sure why.
Anyway. Funerals. The funeral took place in the hills above Brighton. It was awful and weird, seeing the casket and knowing what was inside. It was awful and weird, hearing the crying. They played music, and the speakers weren't working properly. Some people would say that was Matthew, being a pain one last time. I don't think that. I just think that the speakers weren't playing properly. The song was not one I had heard before, but now I know I will never hear it properly again. It won't ever be a piece of music to me anymore. It will be the piece of music they played at Matt's funeral. Anyway. We all threw roses into the grave. I chose a pink one, and then regretted it. It looked pretty in the basket, but it didn't make me think of Matt. After we threw the flowers, we walked around, and back to the cars. The celebrant, who said 'tears are liquid prayers' (?!), told us to look at the sky, and to walk the long way, so we could see the sea. I am glad I looked at the sky, and that I walked the long way to look at the sea. I spent a long while there, looking at the sea, which was only just visible, but only just was enough. I do not think that tears are liquid prayers though.
After the funeral, we went back to the flat- that was once called Matt's Flat, that is now Brunswick- and got ready to go again. Then we walked to the place they were having the wake. I had looked it up, and knew that it was near the sea, in a bar-theatre place. There were pictures of Matt on the screen, and everyone clogged up the entrance to look at them. Once everyone was settled, we sat down, and people spoke about Matt. That is when everyone cried the most. I do not really want to talk about this bit. It was very very sad, and very very emotional, and I am so angry that he was taken away from all those people who still needed him. I am angry because he should have had so much more time. I am very angry.
Next, we had food. It was all chosen to be things that Matt would choose. My cousin said so there will be no vegetarian stuff. But she was wrong, because there was, there was a pastry thing that was lovely. Also, Matt was vegetarian once. Except, he still ate a lot of meat products, and once he finished listing them, we laughed and said so you're not really vegetarian. He wasn't really vegetarian. The pastry thing was lovely though, but it was mostly meat. Lots and lots of types of meat. And fish. I don't like fish, but I ate some, because Matt liked to fish.
Once food had been eaten, everyone chatted and drank. We wrote memories on pieces of paper, to go in a memory book for my littlest cousin, Matt's daughter. I remember a time, maybe just over three years ago, when everything was looking good. Matt said, this time next year I could be a father, and we agreed that that was a scary thought. He was very right though. He was a father, maybe not that time the following year, but soon enough. Except that's a stupid phrase, it wasn't soon enough. A year and a half is not enough. Anyway, we wrote memories, and suddenly I realised that I don't have enough memories. I wrote a stupid one, from when I was really little, about grass and a cow called Quincy.
I went for a walk in the middle of the wake. It was noisy and stuffy and I just needed five minutes. I went down to the beach, to the sea, of course. It was dusky and beautiful and just exactly what I needed.
At the end of the wake, Matt's daughter came along, and made everyone smile. She is smiley and beautiful, and looks so much like him. She does not know who we are, but maybe hopefully I will be moving to London next year, and then I can get to Brighton easier, and maybe hopefully she will learn who we are.
After, people went to another kind of wake, at someone's house. Some of us, the cousins, the middling cousins, decided it would be too crowded, so we went back to The Flat. We walked in the bad weather to the pier, to find it was closed. So instead, we went and found coffee- but, instead of coffee, my younger cousin and I had Nutella ice cream. It was almost 7pm, and cold and wet, and mid-December, and we were in the middle of Brighton, on the evening on the funeral, eating Nutella ice cream. It felt like a scene from a book, and weirdly funny, but also very reminiscent of my family, and of life. Because what else would we be doing? Of course we were eating Nutella ice cream.
We got food on the way back, and went back to The Flat. The other cousins fell asleep, and so did the dogs, so it was just me and my younger cousin. That's probably grammatically incorrect but, you know what, I don't really care. My story still makes sense. You still know what I am saying. Don't be a pedant. Just me and my younger cousin, so we ate chocolate orange and played cards for ages and ages. I taught her Shed, and she taught me Slam, and you know what? I think Slam might just be my new favourite game. I have taught it to two sets of people in the past week, and I am going to teach it to more people, and I am going to play it more. I really do love card games, and it felt like the right thing to be doing, playing card games at the poker table that used to be Matt's. I've decided I want to learn to play poker. I want to learn to play as many card games as possible. But definitely poker.
We stayed up quite late, not just playing cards, but reading and on our phones and playing computer games. Then, my younger cousin and I went to bed, and the oldest cousin present- the one who said there won't be any vegetarian stuff- stayed up. Someone needed to, to let the others in. That's pretty much where the day ended. That was it.
Funerals are weird. And grieving is really weird.
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