For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.”

1 Corinthians 15:53-54

These first few days after mum’s death are presenting an interesting combination of experiences. On the one hand there is the natural inclination to grief, the wash of emotions, and the very real need for quiet and reflection; on the other there is this barrage of details – unavoidable – that simply must be navigated regardless of the impact of loss.

This is especially true when it is the second parent (dad died in November 2022). Mum and dad kept things straightforward and simple, but that of course is not good enough for “The State”! I know I have the authority to take care of everything but I still have to jump through hoops and engage lawyers and more.

Note to self, do not read Charles Dickens’ “Bleak House” until this is all over.

Mum’s funeral/memorial service is coming up Sunday afternoon, and I have started working on my remarks during the time of “reflections from family”. The big challenge is how to comment on 92 years of life in around five minutes.

So I will take my own advice and remember what I told my cousin Peter, who didn’t know what to do with the 15 single-spaced pages he had written about his sister, Linda. “Think of your eulogy as a cartoon drawing or a caricature,” I said. “Provide a few key brushstrokes that get to the heart of the story, and the people listening will fill in the details. It will be like they heard everything.”

So I have found a couple of stories I believe will work, and leave it at that. I will post it in this space after the service.

The moment of passing:

The other thing I wanted to share today, and it is both too difficult and too wonderful to talk about at her memorial, is the always startling reality that my mother absolutely left her body at the time of death.

At 11:48 she was there, breathing haltingly but in a sense refusing to lay down the burden of this life without offering at least token resistance, and then at 11:50 she was – profoundly – not.

I sat with her for a few minutes. I said “goodbye,” and “thank you.” And then I took the sheets and I tucked her in, carefully, like she used to tuck me in when I was a child, just my head exposed, secure and so very comfortable in the care and the love.