Fiona's Quiet Life

it never stops,
it was almost unbear­able, there they were four beau­ti­ful young women in their late thirties and early forties, with their faces crumpled with tears and unhap­pi­ness and it was to me, as if they were three years old and hurt­ing and i could not do any­thing to make it bet­ter.
my daugh­ters and their cous­ins accom­pa­ny­ing their grand­mother on her last jour­ney through requiem mass to the graveside.
i went into a sort of shock when i saw that one of the men lower­ing the coffin into its rest­ing place was my grand­son, i wanted to pull him back shout­ing he’s too young , he’s just a boy, but of course he is not. in Scot­land he is of mar­riage­able age at 16 so why would he be too young for a pall bearer.
i wondered if the priest would ever stop talk­ing and let them lower the coffin , peter was shiv­er­ing with cold apart from the strain of hold­ing on to the strap and wor­ry­ing about it slip­ping out of his hand.

but it was a beau­ti­ful ser­vice and the grand­chil­dren did their parts beau­ti­fully
and the party after­wards was a good one, she wanted us to wear bright colours.….…..not easy for a per­son who has beige hair beige skin and wears beige most of the time but i found some­thing after try­ing on lots of skirts.…..and the food and drink were great as was the company.

i cant bear the thought of my girls being upset like that when i die , maybe i shall start to be a hor­rid old woman now so they will be glad to see the back of me

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