Another post about my gran following on from the last one and more specifically about her death. Her end lives with me as everyone can relate to when they lose someone they love. That last day in the hospital knowing it was the final goodbye and trying to overcome the agoraphobic urges which had kept me from seeing her for months of slow deterioration will forever live in my mind- have to note here that at the time I didn't know what my problems were and was scared because doctors couldn't tell me either. But there is more than that. There are stronger and more negative emotions still alive. There is a bitterness, anger and still after all this time a need bang my head off the wall over the day she was put to rest. It was a farce and far from befitting the great woman that she was.
Firstly I must paint a little picture. My parents moved from Glasgow to a new town in the early seventies. In the late seventies my dad's parents and his younger brother, who stayed with them, moved to the new town too. In the mid eighties my parents moved us all a few hundred yards to a house right across the road from my grandparents and uncle. It should have been good times.
Not long afterwards my granda was diagnosed with a brain tumour and though he fought tooth and nail beyond what the doctor proclaimed would be the end finally the fight was over. Someone took the decision to cremate him in Edinburgh and so we all traipsed through. I remember it well but what I remember most was wandering about the garden of remembrance locating his rose- how ironic. A decade later my uncle died and was cremated there too leaving just my gran in the house. I moved in to keep her company for a few years as she took it really badly. Not only because she was there when it happened but it was harder to see a child pass before you than a husband as you don't expect to outlive your children. Then another decade later it was my gran's turn to pass.
The day of my gran's cremation the cars arrived late and it was an ordeal getting through to the crematorium in time. When we got there a few of us needed the toilet after a long drawn out journey including me so we went and when we returned they were ready to start the service unhappy at having to wait on us. So we carried the coffin in from the car and sat down to the most cringe worthy service from a minister who had never met my gran followed by a hymn that nobody apart from the minister sang- to his credit. Then it was over. As we went outside I noted another hearse parked behind the one we arrived in with people in it. I planned to go to the garden of remembrance to pay my respects but was told I could not as we had to leave straight away. The car behind was the next load of cattle waiting to be herded in.
On the journey back I was fuming and still am. Where is the respect? These people charge enough but my gran's death was treated like an item on a factory conveyor belt. The whole point was to pay our respects and we never got to do that. And it was not the last time either. My wife's gran died and the cremation in Glasgow was almost as bad in that we were lined up as people came out and when we came out there were people waiting for the next service. What sort of remembrance is that for a life?
