Farewell Kitty

Kitty wasn't a cat - it was the name by which my mother-in-law Catherine has always been known. Kitty died last week. She was in her early 80's and had suffered a series of strokes, so it wasn't unexpected. Nevertheless it took us all by surprise as she had seemed to be recovering. She died peacefully, though, and in the bosom of her family, so there are much worse ways to go. We went over to Cork, in southern Ireland, as a family for her funeral.

I like the way the Catholic church does funerals in Ireland. On the night before the funeral is what is called the "Removal". This is where the body is displayed in the open casket at the funeral home. Betty, my wife, and her 8 brothers and sisters all sat on the front pew, with the coffin in front of them. People filed in, looked into the coffin and said their goodbyes to Kitty, sometimes touching her hand, then shook the hands of the family and offered their condolences. This strikes me as being a very personal and meaningful way of doing things. Maybe it was because this took place in the evening, but there were more people at the removal than at the funeral the next day. The sadness of the occasion aside, I love Irish funerals because of the music. The priest knew Kitty very well, as she had always been a devout worshipper, and this meant that his comments really meant something, and that he was able to talk about her with the benefit of personal knowledge. Apart from the couple of congregational hymns all the rest of the music consisted of a woman singing, accompanied by an organist. She had the most wonderful, pure, Celtic voice, and sang the hymns etc. in a real folky Irish way that really melted the heart. Not quite as moving as her husband's funeral 5 years ago when they had a band with Uillean Pipes, fiddles and all, but still marvellous. After the service came another Irish tradition - walking behind the hearse to the cemetary. Now I am not good at walking, mostly due to the enormous amount of extra weight I am carrying. However I was determined that I was going to do it. I parked our car at the cemetary earlier on and walked the 0.7 miles to the church. Then I somehow managed to walk behind the hearse all the way back there after the funeral with Betty and the children. I have to say that I was really grateful that the hearse slowed down a bit on the hills, as I might have collapsed otherwise! I think it is a lovely tradition, though, and all the cars wait patiently along the route without a single impatient horn being tooted. Some even pulled over and bowed their heads respectfully. Yes, I definitely like the way the Irish do funerals.

In fact I like a great deal about Ireland and hope we can eventually manage to afford to retire there. Betty asked me if I would like to be placed on view in my coffin if I snuff it before her. I said that I am scary enough in life, and that the sight of me in death might be too frightening for some, but then again I won't be there to worry about it so what do I care?