We came today to remember you. So many of your friends came. So many spoke of you with warmth, mingling sadness with celebration.

We remembered how generous you were with yourself, and how laid back. None of us had ever seen you lose your temper. Did you ever? We remembered the infuriating way you would volunteer to organise things and then do nothing and leave everyone in a mess. We remembered individual kindnesses, and funny stories about you.

We remembered how you would laugh. When you laughed, that irrepressible, giggly chuckle, it would carry across the room and we knew right away it was you, knew that something funny had happened and we’d hear about it later. Perhaps over a glass of something or a bite to eat, or perhaps while you smoked outside and we hopped from foot to foot because it was cold.

I remembered you telling me about your godchildren one day, when Ariel was wearing a yellow dress. She wore one again today, a streak of vibrant colour in a mournful wintry hall. She laughed and drank and ate and wanted stories. You would have approved.


I like to think that you are enjoying the afterlife at least as much as you enjoyed this one.