In memoriam

I am never entirely sure what I should write in this thing, so forgive me if this seems inappropriate. For I would like to mark the passing, on Wednesday last, of my uncle.  At the age of sixty-seven, in his sleep, rather unexpectedly, practically on his birthday, and only days from meeting his daughter-in-law-to-be’s parents, for the first time, a good, honest, gentle and hard-working man, my godmother’s husband, departed, from this world, for the side of truth.

At times like this, to the observer it can seem like clichés become used too wantonly, but in actuality, at this time my thoughts are with his family. My god mother and cousins are very close to me and I cannot but be mindful of, or at least attempt to be conscious of, what they are going through. They held themselves together remarkably well over the last few days, and I trust that their strength of spirit will remain with them.

However, I don’t think it would be callous of me to say that in each funeral occasion that a part of every sinner’s grief, whether they be chief mourners or casual observers, is the reminder of their own mortality. In every wake, in every removal, every choir service, every funeral mass and burial everyone sees their own passing. And there is little that can be done about that! Except each of us prepare in our own individual way, for whatever we expect to meet thereafter.

My own faith is as wearisome and fickle as the next man’s, and I can’t claim to explain anything, really, to any great degree. But one thing I do know for certain, is that should I find myself leaving this life in thirty-nine years’ time, and leaving behind a life as well-lived, and a family as beloved, and loving, and memories as fondly remembered, as he who I still scarcely believe has gone, then I will die a very happy man.