Well it all went off fine. The Humanist service was impressive and moving. I accomplished my six-minute spot in the middle in a clear voice, without hesitation or wobbles, although the last two lines of the poem nearly did for me.
And now it's over. Dad is OK; the nibbles went down pretty well; all the usual nice things were said (and meant); and I feel a bit tired and used-up. Dad and I intend to scatter Mum's ashes in his back garden tomorrow. I would have scattered them on the top of Snowdon if need be. Or Haystacks, come to that. Mum was fond of walking.
It really feels like the end of an era. I knew when I took off my funeral outfit a couple of hours ago that I'd probably be wearing it again soon enough, but somehow it feels like a strange drab kind of uniform that I used to wear but don't anymore. It was telling that when putting on the suit jacket, which was double-breasted, I attempted to button it right-over-left, rather than left-over-right. I am getting conditioned to the female way of wearing clothes. What else will change?
At the gathering at Dad's after the funeral, the hair kept on getting loose. Nobody said anything about it, but surely people wondered. Surely they did. Well, I will keeping growing my hair longer and longer now, although I'll pay for a really expert cut before the cruise. No turning back now. Somehow I feel launched. New Age, new person.