Bye, Granny

It was a bright day. Aunty June, hanky in hand, said "God smiles on the righteous" and we all bowed our heads solemnly, mouths a straight line.

The church stood before us, a proud, historical edifice, dark oak doors opened, a yawning chasm to its cool, dark interior. Heels clipped on tiles as people entered, accompanied by the murmur of muted greetings.

I hung back with my cousin, Joe, who I hadn't seen for years. He was smoking, leaning nonchalantly against a gravestone, watching through squinted eye the steady trail of mourners heading into church.

Everyone was here for Granny's funeral. A grand old matriarch, known by all. Hunched figures trooped mainly in black and white, some veiled in old school tribute, others dressed in the only dark thing they possessed, navy blue, grey.

It was an austere scene. Serious and respectful. Granny would have loved it.

"Well, look who it is?" Joe blew out a puff of smoke and smirked at me. "Little Janey. How are ya?"

I dodged the smoke and said, "I'm good. Yourself?"

"Ah, you know," stubbing his cigarette out on Abraham Stokes. "Doing what I can to survive" and he flicked the butt into the trees and gave me a hug.

He smelt of tobacco, sandalwood and stale booze. It was a smell I knew and loved, warm and comfortable to me, the scent of family, times shared.

"It's been too long, eh?" he said, his eyes glistening.

"Yeah, it has," I said. I could hear the heavy handle of the door being lifted to close the doors.

"It's a shame that Granny's had to die to bring us back together," he said, sadly. "There's got to be easier ways of meeting up." He looked at me sharply then. "Let's make sure we get together in the future, eh?"

I nodded. We both knew that it probably wouldn't happen but it felt good to hear it anyway. We headed towards the church.

"You going to the wake?" Joe asked as we reached the porch.

"Yes," I replied.

"I'll give you a lift."

*

The service was a lesson in old church tradition: hymns with minor chords, delivered slowly on an organ more suited to a horror film soundtrack.

Granny's coffin didn't represent the powerful presence she had when living. I didn't like the way that death had dwarfed her.

Aunty June sniffed throughout the service and the vicar's warble threatened to shake St. Michael in his stained glass window. I stood with my mum who cried with restraint. It was fair to say that Granny had a good send-off.

It's the thud of earth on the coffin that does me and the walking away. Bye, Granny. I looked inside myself. Was I sad?

*

I got into Joe's car. Scrappy, like him.

"Let's have some music, eh?" He pressed the stereo on.

I expected Rock. A tinny voice emerged. The Wizard of Oz?

Joe turned to me, straight-faced and then we both burst out laughing.