working towards perfection (and failing)

Tag: sadness

do not stand at my grave and weep








I love funerals.

Does that make me odd?

It ties in with my love of graveyards and cemeteries, the knowledge that hundreds of bones lie beneath my feet in varying stages of decomposition, inevitably all – regardless of race, gender, sexual orientation, faith, impairment, etc. – becoming nothing more than dust giving life to nature; the one absolute we all share, after birth, is the fact that each and every one of us will die.  There is much joy and happiness to be found at funerals. A celebration of a life well-lived, the love of family and friends, the beautiful memories and the quirky anecdotes. A family united in grief, old and young, close and not-so close, sharing a moment of reflection in honour of the deceased.

My uncle passed away last month, suddenly and unexpectedly, despite his advanced years. Married to my Mumsy’s dearly departed sister and father to my cousins, he was a man I admit I was not close to, and was not particularly fond of. This stemmed, in part, from my own introversion and need for solitude, silence and routine. He was gregarious, blunt, exceedingly opinionated, and – in my childlike observations – very stern. I think that what it boiled down to was a simple personality clash and I didn’t spend enough time with him to get to know and understand him. Plus, he scared the little me completely and utterly, and I don’t think this feeling ever deserted me.

Last week we attended his funeral. It was a beautiful service. I gave hugs and comfort to my littlest nephew and held my Mumsy’s hand.  And although I feel sad, I do not grieve for him. Instead I simply grieve for his children and his grandchildren, for Mumsy and for two of my siblings who were also close to him.

It made me wonder – do we really grieve for other people? Or is our grief selfish? Are we purely grieving for the things we want that we now can’t have?


in lieu of a happy post


I had every intention of writing something happy today.  It was going to be about Dora-cat, but my intention was waylaid and I found something else or two to do, and now I’m not in the mood for a happy post.

Sometimes I get overwhelmingly sad.  No, not sad.  It’s more than sad.  It’s a feeling that I’ve been [emotionally] punched in the tummy and I know there’s no reason to feel this way, but the punching just keeps … well, punching.

I’d like to tell you, faceless and random strangers, about my family, in particular my three full-bloodied siblings.  But I shan’t.  Not today.

Earlier this evening I sent Big Brother an email.  It was an excited email. To paraphrase:

Hey, we’re thinking of driving across Europe in April to visit the country where you live in my Easter holidays! It would be fabulous to spend some time with you. Love you! KatieF x

I received an email back in record time (he usually either doesn’t respond or it takes him about a month) saying:

Will get back to you, we might be in Wales.

To which I replied:


And now I feel as though I’ve been punched in the tummy.  It’s completely irrational and stupid, and I’m trying hard not to cry.

Any normal person would be thinking that it’s wonderful, they’ll be in Wales and instead of a two day drive across Europe it’s a five hour drive into Wales. And all I can think? They’re planning something behind my back with Eldest Brother (who lives in Wales) and I’m not important enough to be told and Blokey’s taken the time off work and now we’ll have to drive to the country where they live and they won’t be there but we’ll also have to drive to Wales and I’ll have to watch them all playing Happy Families whilst I miss out on it fully because I don’t have the children required to make this a situation which can concern me …

… breathe …

Somebody slap me.

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