On Friday, I well and truly needed The Blonde One.
I attended my Grandpa's funeral on Friday and it was utter shite. I am aware that funerals are not a fun way to spend ones time anyway, however, this one was particularly upsetting for a number of reasons that would be inappropriate to go into here and now. Time and Place and all that...perhaps, some people need to learn this.
The day wasn't all bad, of course. I was able to see two of my youngest cousins again, who are the most darling twin girls that have ever graced the earth. In a world full of modern technology resulting in a generation who can only seem to communicate through the world of cyber space, my cousins have managed to possess manners that would be befitting to a fairytale Princess. I got to see my (half) uncle again, who I have missed on the last few occasions when visiting my Grandpa. Upon arriving at the wake my uncle S stopped his conversation with another family member, put down his (well deserved) pint and turned to me declaring he needed to hug his 'lovely niece'. It was the favourite part of my day.
If any of the other uncles were to hug me and declare I was their lovely niece, which can happen on occassion I'll have you know, it would make me smile but I would probably forget about it within the week. Uncle S's hug and words will stay with me forever. Don't get me wrong, I adore all my uncles, however, I have not grown up with my uncle S for many reasons and knowing that he still wanted to keep a relationship going after the death of my Grandpa was the one nice thing to come out of a crappy day.
The Blonde One has been my best friend for almost a decade now, and she has been pretty terrific. When my Nanny died she offered to attend the funeral to support me; after the very first death of a child I had worked with (at a Special Needs School in my home town) happened she pampered me for the whole evening as well as the following weekend; after the first boy I ever slept with accidently broke my heart she was there and last week she threw me a 'Cheer up Jo' party (see previous post 'And the winner is The Blonde One') to well, you guessed it, cheer me up. So where was she on Friday evening when I needed her once again after returning from my Grandpa's funeral? Arriving in New York City to visit her eldest brother. And too bloody right. She rarely gets a holiday and she bloody well deserves this one. I can't expect her to drop everything every time I need her, although, she usually does. I am lucky enough to many friends that would have come over to be with me if I had asked them, however, on Friday I didn't want to make any effort whatsoever and needed someone who would just know what to do without me having to ask. I felt it was too much to put onto anyone else, but The Blonde One knows precisely what to do as she knows me better than most. Sometimes and scarily, she knows me better than I know myself.
I have come to the conclusion that I need to have a back up plan whenever The Blonde One can't be called upon to make everything better. The last funeral I attended before my Grandpa's was that of a darling little boy, My Little Dragon. He was an autistic boy I had worked with in and outside of the Special Needs school I worked for for three and a half years. My Little Dragon was turning out to be more of a cousin/adopted brother to me than someone I simply worked with. I adored him and his family and he would have been apart of my life for ever more, regardless. This was clearly not to be. His funeral was truly the most horrendous day of my life. From the size of the small wicker coffin My Little Dragon was placed in, to hearing another darling boy uttering a 'Goodbye' to his friend as they escorted the coffin out of the New College Oxford Chaple, there was not a positive emotion I could take away from that day. However, by the end of the day in question I did not feel nearly as drained as I felt on Friday (although, still just as sad) after my Grandpa's funeral. (Please do not presume that I didn't love my Grandpa very much, but the emotions running through you when you are saying goodbye and rejoicing the life of a happy fulfilled 89 year old man compared with the shock of suddenly losing a physically healthy 17 year old autistic boy who was yet to begin his life are entirely different. I loved (love) them both, but you just cannot compare the two.) But why?
My flatmate calls it the 'high fidelity' affect. The expression comes from a scene in the book/film 'high fidelity' where the main character is called up by his ex-girlfriend on the day of her fathers funeral to, how do I put this?...take her mind off things. In the film, I believe she states that she just 'wants to feel any other emotion than the one she is feeling'. I'm not suggesting that we should all call up an ex on the day of a funeral demanding a good time. That would seem more than a little inappropriate. That being said, having someone to hold you reassuring you that it's ok to be sad and kiss you to stop you from crying beats any other form of cheer up I have ever come across. I never intended to be kissed by an ex on the day of My Little Dragons funeral, but when he did kiss me it was honestly the nicest feeling to stop thinking about death and my own grief and just enjoy being held. And so I did nothing to stop him.
I don't plan to make this a regular habit but if I am to allow The Blonde One to have a life and not pressurize her to be at my beck and call from now on, I may just need to get over my commitment issues and find myself a boyfriend. If only to ensure I don't end up sitting in the corner of my sofa on the evening of the next funeral I attened in tears nursing the worst headache I have ever had.
The cousin that drove me to the funeral on Friday was effected far more than she thought she would be and I was therefore relived and, for the most part, happy that she was returning to her boyfriend for the evening when I left her. Well, actually I would say ninety per cent happy and ten per cent jealous. Ok, ok, seventy/thirty, but that's your final offer. Perhaps I can conquer this commintment phobia after all...
...Don't hold your breath though. I'm not.
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