Things I’ll Never Forget About That Morning…

The Stranger at The Funeral – Part 1…

The Morning of Dad’s Funeral ..

It’s strange, the things you remember from days like that.
Not the eulogies or the hymns, but the little things. The things that shouldn’t matter, but somehow do.

The morning of my Dad’s funeral, I lay in bed listening to Fanny and Bully Jr. my son, laughing in the kitchen. Fanny asked him what she should wear. Like they were old friends, like none of this was unusual.

What she didn’t know, or maybe she did, was that I was upstairs scrambling to find my son a warm jumper. He hadn’t brought enough clothes for a cold Irish funeral. There I was, grieving, resentful, heartbroken, and still minding people. Still looking after everyone else, while no one thought to ask how I was holding up.

We made it to the church. Dad’s last journey. It was surreal, like walking through a dream where none of the rules make sense.

Then, just as we’re about to sit, Fanny announces she’s not sitting in the front row with us, with me, Bully, and Saul. Some weird, petty protest at a funeral. I turned, caught her eye, and told her straight to get in with us. She did, huffing like a sulky teenager.

That was the last real conversation I had with her.
And looking back, it told me everything I needed to know.

After the mass, I had to introduce my son, to neighbors who didn’t even know he existed. Who’d never heard of him because, back when I was a teenager and pregnant, he was the family disgrace. A secret to be erased. Dad never met him. Never wanted to. Because he was proof I wasn’t perfect, proof I’d messed up.

And there I was, going through the motions, wondering what the hell my father would’ve made of the scene. His grandson, at his funeral, in a borrowed jumper, surrounded by people who were strangers to him and silent about his very existence.

Grief does strange things to people, they say.
But so does shame. And silence. And pretending.

The Stranger At The Wake – Part 2 …

The Stranger At The Wake – Part 3 …

The Stranger at The Funeral – Part 1…

The Stranger At The Funeral – Part 2 …

After The Funeral Part 1 – Coming soon..


Comments

6 responses to “Things I’ll Never Forget About That Morning…”

  1. It must be heart breaking for children to be rejected. Families forget about the poor child always think about themselves and people. This is very shameful

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Absolutely, thank you for saying that. It’s heartbreaking, and what’s worse is how invisible those children often become in the chaos of other people’s egos, pride, and power struggles. So many families get so caught up in appearances and blame, they forget a human is carrying wounds they didn’t ask for. It’s not just shameful, it’s a generational pattern that desperately needs to be broken. I appreciate you seeing that.
      Mar 🧡

      Liked by 2 people

  2. Sending you hugs 🫂 and love Mae.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Thanks Iba, xxx

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you 🧡

      Liked by 1 person

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