Went to my old friend's funeral today. It was beautifully done and I'm sure she would have loved it. These things are never easy though, and this one - for many people, and a variety of reasons - particularly so.
I'd had a very stressful couple of days for a quite different reason: a routine medical screening was swiftly followed by a recall to look at an anomaly. The clinic involved was absolutely marvellous, but the hierarchy of tests involved just lead to a mounting sense of panic and, by the end of it, a feeling of inevitable doom. It was with immense gratitude and relief that I heard from the doctor that the area of concern was in no way sinister and required no further exploration. Having spent a couple of nights of broken and troubled sleep, waking to a sense of panicky disbelief and unreality, I walked out of the hospital practically kicking my heels together (as did the husband, whose two hour solitary wait had seemed intolerable). I am so, so pleased that everything is fine and feel so much heartache and empathy for those whose diagnosis is not so favourable. Including my poor old friend, who must have gone through a similar experience, but with no happy outcome. Things are pretty peaceful tonight: I am anticipating a long, quiet night of dreamless and restful sleep. I hope that she too is resting peacefully, under the heavy blanket of earth that covers her, calm, healed, untormented at last. We knew each other for over twenty years and I miss the old times and her wry humour and her unconditional friendship. So much.
Went to visit my old friend's grave today. I haven't been back since she was buried fifteen months ago. I was pleased to see that there was a lovely headstone, engraved with a kingfisher (her favourite bird, the sight of which once persuaded her in the depths of despair away from the river), a loving dedication and the full text of Mary Elizabeth Frye's poem 'Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep....'
