Open Writing

It's a good day for a funeral. The sky is hidden behind that heavy wet colourless overcast Nature puts on for a show like this, and the air is full of a misty drizzle. You don't realise it's there until it drips off the end of your nose. I've just been watching drops form on that tombstone over there behind the newly dug grave, and notice them idly wander down the face of the inscription. Got to watch something while the priest drones on.

"Till Death do us part". Well, it's done that all right. Times like this your old memories begin to flood back. I remember my first date with Roma. She was the darling of all the blokes in year twelve that year. Not one of us was game to approach her.- she was so far above us (or so we thought) that the world would end if she spoke to any of us. But the Final Year School Ball was coming up, and all the blokes were trying like crazy to find excuses not to go, while the girls were throwing all sorts of hints around, angling for their favourites, (or anyone) to ask them. It was a pretty stressful time all round.

Roma's brother Jim, my best mate, approached me to partner his sister, and all the blokes who were there at the time jumped behind him, out of the line of fire, in case I refused. The pressure on me was enormous. Actually I was thrilled to be asked. Mortified, but thrilled, if you know what I mean. Jim did a damned good job in convincing everyone he was being hard on me, but he already knew I would accept. He knew my feelings. What I didn't know at the time was that she had specifically asked him to get me.

The practice sessions for the Ball saw us both thaw out slowly, and by the time of the big do, we were good friends, and found that working and moving together was natural. We danced like a pair of professionals all night. We've been dancing together ever since, come to think of it. Until now.

We got engaged soon after the graduation ceremony at the end of that school year. Roma took up nursing training, and a year later when I got a permanent job with the shipping company, we got married.

Two kids. Sad to see their normally cheery faces so distressed. Makes them look older than they are. Both married now. Doesn't time fly?

I remember when Melanie was born. I wasn't supposed to be there. They didn't like it in those days, but the midwife and doctor were Roma's workmates, and I was able to hold her hand all through the delivery. I'd never been so proud of her, the way she stood up to all that pain and pressure. I didn't care whether it was a boy or girl, just that it would be born. When the baby was delivered, the look of joy on Roma's face as she held the funny-looking thing was something holy.

That was Melanie. Two years later it was Peter, but he was a lot easier. We thought we knew all about it by then! But we loved them both. Inseparable throughout their school years, they were, although they fought like cat and dog most of the time. Bossy sister and teasing younger brother. Looked after each other, too. If someone got a bit heavy on Peter, Melanie would lay into them like a shrew, and Peter would do the same thing for her when he put on a bit of height.

Look at them now. Peter's a pilot in the Air Force. Married Gail five years ago, had two kids within three years, and she's pregnant again. Timothy will be going to school next year. Bored stiff, those little ones look now. Grandparents' funerals are not the most exciting entertainment for pre-schoolers.

Melanie's a career woman, in advertising, and although Geoff wants kids, she hasn't had any yet. She'll have to watch her marriage, if you ask me. Still, that's their problem. They're old enough to make their own mistakes.

So. Here we are, all together again, at my graveside, sprinkling dirt on my shiny new coffin. In the drizzling rain. Suppose I'd better leave them to it and be on my way, wherever that is. It's been a good day for a funeral, but...