Another funeral, of another Margaret, a dear Aunt. (See also here.) The words a long life, well-lived applied to this Margaret too. I would like them to be able to say the same of me when I go!
I want to be able to say I lived it fully - the length and the breadth and the depth of it, the warp and the weft, the texture of it, the rough and the smooth, the thick and thin of it, the gossamer and the knotted oiled wool. The sound of it, the roar and the whisper and the music of it. The taste of it, both the sweetness and the bitterness. All the rich and subtle colour of it. When it is scarlet and ultramarine, or magenta or the faintest lavender grey. I want to be there for all of it. I want to experience the stars above it and the earth below it. Most of all I don't want to be afraid to both give and to take the love in it.
Do you too find that funerals make you come over all philosophical?