It was a grief-less funeral, or at least so it seemed to me. There was little black worn by the mourners, and one of her daughters wore a peach floral dress. The sun streamed into the church and the congregration sang with seemingly good heart. Likening her to Abel, the bishop who gave the eulogy, said that though dead she was still speaking to us. It felt odd to hear him say that. I knew what he meant but I wished her less active role. Let her rest, I wanted to say. She’s earnt it. Let there be silence instead. That, I always find, speaks volumes. R.I.P x
