Second Best

Today

Last week my brother's mother-in-law died. She was ninety and had managed to live independently with her brother until a stroke carried her off rapidly.

I have many memories of Peggy who was an ever-smiling presence at many family events.

The family conducted the funeral service entirely themselves: Joan conducting the proceedings, David giving the address, Matthew leading prayers and another granddaughter giving the reading.

I spoke to Joan afterwards, "Well done - that can't have been easy." "Was it all right?" she asked anxiously "We couldn't get anyone so did it ourselves. Did it matter, having second-best?" "Second best!" I exclaimed "It was how it should be, the family saying goodbye."

In My Day

This made me think of the funeral of Paul's Auntie Joyce in 2005. She had led a grim life, starting with having her left-handedness beaten out of her at school which left her withdrawn and with a persistent stammer. She was married to abusive and drunken husbands. Her son had to be snatched away from the beatings given him by his stepfather and Paul's Mum cared for him on more than one occasion. Finally, totally adrift, she was admitted to care when she was fifty-nine and slowly dissolved into dementia. Her own children paid her less and less attention and she didn't see her grandchildren or great-grandchildren.

So when the funeral came round we went along in some anxiety, wondering who would be there and how the service would be conducted.

Although Joyce's son had refused to attend, her daughter was there and clearly in the role of host. We sat down to the service. The official began his address:

"There's no point in celebrating the life of Joyce," he said "there's not a lot to celebrate; she had a rough deal for most of her time. Instead I would like us to use this as an opportunity to learn about forgiveness; for Joyce's children to forgive her any wrong they may have felt she did them and for the rest of you to forgive those children for what you saw as neglect and to welcome them back fully into the family."

The daughter sat with the tears streaming and we all felt a lessening of a family burden. And Joyce, in death, had become a force for good as she had unable to be in her life.

I felt touched and impressed with the honesty and humanity of the officiating priest so that Joyce's funeral was as far from second-best as possible.

But, if, when I die, I have half as lovingly a delivered service as Peggy, I shall feel first-class.