When my Dad died, as it was the tail end of COVID restrictions, arranging his funeral was both much easier and much harder than I thought it would be.

Easier because we were limited to 18 people at the service and no ‘gathering’ afterwards. Harder because I had to sit 6 feet away from my Mum throughout the service. Harder because of the number of people who lined up outside but had to remain distanced and masked. Easier because, we realised in hindsight, that my Dad wouldn’t have wanted a fuss so he’d probably have preferred it this way anyway.

Mum passed suddenly last week (peacefully but it wasn’t expected) and so the wrecking ball of grief has dropped straight into our busy lives, making the dizzying effect of switching from work, to home, to “dealing with Mum” all the more bewildering as my sister and I plan her funeral and start to consider all the administrative tasks required.

Given we also need to consider what to do with the remaining contents of her flat before we get it ready to sell (ahh the joys of probate), and it’s been a different experience from when we said goodbye to Dad.

I was working at home when he passed and so could flex and adjust hours and days to be there for Mum and handle most of the organising of both his funeral and her life without him. Thankfully my parents were sensible and I was already, legally, executor of their estate. My Dad a lot of the ‘bills and house’ stuff so I took that on for Mum.

Since then, 5 years have passed and while Mum did do a lot of decluttering, there is still a lot of things to go through in her flat, a process we’ve started already, finding memories I didn’t even know existed; letters from my Dad to my Mum whilst she was in hospital for an extended stay just before my sister was born. For a man who didn’t speak his emotions, it was startling and moving to read him laying his heart open to Mum in the letters, written late at night after ‘Gordon’ was asleep he talks of how much he misses her, how much he loves her, and loves being with her and doing things for her.

I am even more like him than I ever realised.

It’s an odd time, whilst we now wait for the funeral (next week), and slowly put our lives back together minus yet another massive piece (Mum did love a jigsaw). It’s just me and my sister now, and between us we have to decide what to do with things that have little value to anyone except us. I already have a ‘candy’ thermometer that my Dad used to use that I didn’t realise Mum had kept. Things like that, like the bust of our dog Sintra, some photos, a few trinkets.

And as much as I’d love it, the family piano will go. I’m pretty sure the metal structure inside is cracked/warped so it’ll never be in tune again, but I spent many hours watching Mum play it, as well as many more learning to play it myself.

In the meantime I am starting the process of closing accounts, notifying services, and Jennie and I have the funeral planned. There is still much to do but that’s all it really is, stuff to do. It will get done.

I am grieving, working, keeping myself busy and crying when I feel the need. As ever Becca is there for me, even though she is grieving too, but she knows my shoulders can hold her tears too if she needs them too. And my beautiful boy remains blissfully unaware but I know he’ll ask soon when he realises we aren’t going to Grandma’s house. And I will cry and hold him close and then make him laugh and his smile will full my heart with the love it needs.

One comfort I have found is in writing the eulogy. I remember when Dad passed I did the same, wrote it quite soon after he died and re-read and edited and re-read and edited it until the night before the funeral itself. I’ve already written the first draft of Mum’s and made some edits and tweaks over the past couple of days.

Messages have flooded in, cards and phone calls. It’s all a blur, as it was a few years ago. I know the day itself will pass and life will move on, but for now I am living day to day, hour to hour. Sleep evades me one night, welcomes me in the next. Such odd days.