Page 5 of Life After Me

David

I’m glad Matty and I were able to sort things out between us, because we’ve all had to pull together over the last few days. There has been so much to organise, and so many decisions to make. It’s amazing how complicated death can be.

I had to go to the registry office to let the officials know about Jenn.

Then there were the insurance companies to call, the banks had to see the death certificate so our joint accounts could stop being joint, and the solicitors needed to be contacted about the will — not that there’s much of one.

We only bothered with the basics, but at least it will make everything else easier to deal with.

I had to deface and return her credit cards, transfer her car into my name and cancel her insurance.

And all that was before I could even start thinking about the funeral arrangements.

I’d handled similar situations in the past when Jenn’s parents passed away, but I’d forgotten how much there was to do when someone died.

In a way, I suppose it’s good. As painful as it was to tell people I needed to change policies, account details and information because Jenn had died, it’s better than actually having to stop and realise what that means.

I’ve found I’m OK, or as OK as I can possibly be, so long as I stay busy.

It’s when I run out of things to do, and I’m forced to stop, that’s when it hits me again — the gnawing, empty loneliness that brings anger and hopelessness as its faithful companions.

Sarah, my sister-in-law, and Lottie have been so good.

They’ve helped me make all the decisions I just couldn’t handle.

I had no idea how to answer the questions the funeral directors asked.

My brain just froze. I’d never even thought about half of the things they needed to know.

I didn’t know if Jenn would rather be buried or cremated.

She was a free spirit, and she loved life, but whether that meant she’d rather be scattered or buried I just couldn’t decide.

We never really talked about things like that.

We were both too young and healthy to worry about it.

‘Buried.’ Sarah had nodded firmly. ‘Somewhere sunny and with trees. She’d have liked to be somewhere we could visit her. She was always scared of fire, so better to bury her and cover her grave with flowers that bloom every year.’

I nodded in numb agreement, wondering how I could have forgotten how careful Jenn had always been about checking the smoke alarms, and making sure there was nothing left on the stairs that could trip us up if ever we needed to get out fast. What other things was I going to forget?

Then there was the coffin to discuss. Did we want traditional wood, wicker, bamboo or even biodegradable cardboard?

What type of wood, what handles, what lining?

Question after question was thrown at me, forcing me to drag myself out of the numbness and think.

What was the best answer? What should I do?

What would Jenn have wanted? I struggled with the answers to their questions.

Where to hold the funeral was probably the easiest one to deal with.

I would have preferred a quiet, small ceremony where I could have said goodbye to Jenn privately.

But over the last few days I’d come to realise that’s not what she would have wanted.

She loved people, my Jenn, and they loved her.

That’s part of what made her such a good teacher — the fact that she really did care.

She would have wanted to make sure everyone who was part of her life would have a chance to say their farewells, and to support each other.

So when the question of where we should hold her funeral came up, I knew the answer as clearly as if Jenn was sitting beside me and answering for herself.

It had to be the church around the corner from her school.

It was big and friendly and welcoming, and near enough to the school that the students could come if they wanted to.

The rest of the plans flew by in a blur.

Yes the minister at the church would be fine as Jenn knew him through the school, yes we’d get back to them with hymns and readings, yes members of the family and close friends would probably want to say something, yes we’d like to have photos of her on display — Lottie would sort that — and yes Matty and I both wanted to help carry her in.

I’d carried her over the threshold of every home we’d shared.

It seemed appropriate, that when it came to her final resting place, it should be my arms that carried her.

‘No, we’ll organise the flowers, thank you.’ Lottie shook her head. ‘I don’t know about the rest. Dad?’ She turned to me, her face pale. ‘What do you think?’

‘About what?’

‘We were speaking about the personal items you’d like Jennifer to have with her, such as favourite clothes, photos or trinkets,’ the undertaker explained gently. ‘I’d asked if you wanted to see her again, when you dropped them off.’

‘See Jenn?’ My heart juddered against my ribs. Of course I wanted to see Jenn — I always wanted to see Jenn. Every time I turned a corner or walked into another room, part of me still expected to see her, hoping against hope that she’d be there.

‘MrHughes? David?’ The man leaned across the desk. ‘You don’t need to answer now, but it’s something you should think about.’

‘How...’ Lottie paused and took a deep breath before she could continue. ‘How does she look? Have you seen her?’

‘Yes.’ The man nodded. ‘She looks peaceful, as though she’s asleep.’ He squeezed my daughter’s fingers. ‘You can’t see any signs of the accident.’

‘Good.’ Lottie studied her fingers where the professional ones had wrapped briefly around them.

‘That’s good. I’m not sure I want to see her, though.

Is that wrong?’ She looked around helplessly.

‘Is it weird that I don’t want to see her like that?

’ She bit back tears as her aunt wrapped a comforting arm around her.

The man shrugged slightly. ‘Some people find it helpful and reassuring. They find it easier to accept the finality of the situation once they know their loved one is resting and at peace. Others prefer to remember them as they were. There is no normal in grief. One way is not better than another. All you can do is what’s right for you, and your family. ’

I nodded as relief flooded through me. That was the first thing that had made sense in this whole crazy situation. ‘Thank you. I’ll think about it.’ I shook his hand gratefully.

‘It’s what we’re here for,’ the man reassured me. ‘If there’s anything else we can do, any questions you may have, please don’t hesitate to call us.’

I nodded numbly, suddenly feeling drained and tired as Sarah led us all out into the fresh air. She peered at me with concern. ‘I’m worried about you David, you look exhausted.’

I shrugged. Sleep hadn’t been coming easily. I’m not sure I’ve slept properly since. There’d been drug-induced unconsciousness from the painkillers the hospital gave me, but it’s not the same. In all honesty I still don’t want to sleep. The thought of being alone in our bed still terrifies me.

‘Look, I can put my phone calls off until later, and come to the florists with you,’ Sarah offered as she unlocked the car and slid into the driver’s seat.

‘It’s all right.’ I shook my head. ‘Just drop us off on your way back, and we’ll walk home afterwards.’

‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Sarah persisted.

‘Yes.’ I forced myself to smile, trying to reassure her. ‘I’m all right. Thanks for all your help. You’ve been brilliant.’

‘No need.’ Sarah shook her head. ‘Jenn’s my little sister.’ She paused, concentrating on the road. ‘She was my little sister.’ The correction hurt her, tearing at her throat and strangling her voice. ‘I’m used to looking after her.’

I nodded and stared out the window, not knowing what to say.

I felt like my brain had turned to mush, and I couldn’t think straight anymore.

My eyes burned every time I closed them, and my nose and sinuses were bunged up and raw from crying.

I watched the world slip past us, barely registering what I was seeing as people went about their lives, unthinking, unknowing and unhurting.

What I wouldn’t have given to be one of them again.

* * *

‘Daffodils aren’t really in season yet,’ the florist explained. ‘And they’re not really suitable for a funeral. What about something more classy and elegant, like lilies? A little more upmarket? After all, you want to give her the best, don’t you?’

I found myself nodding numbly, watching as the woman bustled around her shop, gathering up roses and lilies. I thought daffodils would have been nice, that Jenn would have liked them, but the florist was right. She deserved the best, and what did I know about flowers anyway?

‘No.’ My head shot up at the sound of Lottie’s voice. ‘I’m sorry, but no.’ She shook her head firmly. ‘No lilies. Mum didn’t like them. She found them depressing and they made her sneeze. She wouldn’t have them in her house. She didn’t like them in life, so why should we give them to her in death?’

‘Well they are traditional.’

‘I don’t care.’ Lottie shook her head. ‘And while you’re at it, the only roses she liked were the old-fashioned scented ones.

And the ones in your hand don’t look like they’re going to meet either criteria very well.

Her favourite flowers were daffodils. And she loved tulips and irises too. Especially the white irises.’

‘They’re not really in season.’

‘But roses and lilies are?’

‘No. We import them.’

‘Well can’t you import the daffodils and tulips?’ Lottie insisted.

‘I don’t know.’ The florist shrugged. ‘I suppose we could, but as we’re buying so early in the season, it’s likely to be difficult. Which means expensive.’