People's stories

I played the organ for a funeral today, which gave me cause to think about the stories attached to people.  The deceased’s granddaughter read a lovely poem about her Grandad, and it was clear from the number of people in the chapel that he had been a popular guy.  All those people with (presumably) happy memories of that person.  It seems a shame that we can’t somehow capture the nice side of people in everyday life.  All we ever get to hear is the rotten side of life on the news and in the papers.  I guess it isn’t interesting enough to hear about the ordinary, fun things that people do.

And on the way back to the car, there were two memorials next to each other – one to a guy who had died aged 47, and one to what I assume are two brothers (from their birthdays) who had died aged 10 and 17.  I wonder what their stories are?  And for each memorial plaque there are more stories – of people good and bad, who touched others during their lives and whose only impact on my life is a little piece of metal on a kerbstone in a crematorium.

Every funeral I attend, whether professionally or as a mourner, leaves me wishing I’d known the deceased better.