On the way to dying — 4 Comments

  1. Paul knew his beer too: we are told that when he reached the Three Taverns he took Courage!

    One of my childhood memories is of my father cracking this joke. Isn’t it strange what things a child remembers.

    I was blessed with a country childhood, and other memories are of holding funeral services for dead baby rooks blown from their nests. It is through such things I think that we come to grasp the reality of death, for other creatures if not for ourselves.

  2. My lasting memory of death is listening to the funeral of Winston Churchill on the Radio with my Nan and Mother. Then when I was 13 my own Nans death.
    My memories of Mrs Rabbage is getting smacked on the back of the hand for being naughty and filling up the coal scuttles for the coal fired heaters in the classroom!!!!!!And of her reading stories to the class, she was a lovely lady with ruddy cheeks and a big smile.

  3. I am hopelessly bad at coping with death and am getting worse. Funerals are getting harder; perhaps because I am ten years in the parish and have known well some of those I bury; perhaps because each one confronts me with my own mortality and I feel I haven’t done a fraction of all the things I had hoped to do.

  4. Ian I don’t blame you coping worse with something that’s so difficult to do compassionately. The first funeral I attended was my husbands. That’s when my own mortality became significant. But I don’t dwell on it. Neither should you . . .

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