In the days after Sharon died, we were all completely knocked for six and it seemed that there was so much to do.  We had to let everyone know that she had died, which I found one of the hardest things.  We had to do all the practical things like getting Sharon’s special bed packed up and put away for collection.  It had taken up so much room in the sitting room that it seemed really strange and empty when it had gone.

There was the wheelchair, bright, shiny and new, that she had never had the chance to use.  That and various other bits and pieces borrowed from the hospital had to be collected or returned.  There were people to see and forms to fill in.  There were thank yous to write to the people who had cared for her: the doctor, the nurses, the Macmillan nurse.   Poor M had lots of paper work to do, cancelling things and informing public bodies.  It all seemed such hard work, as we were so stunned by her sudden absence that we couldn’t take it in.

All her tablets had to be taken back to a pharmacist.  This was a job I thought would be straightforward, but I went to one chemist and the pharmacist wasn’t there so they couldn’t accept them.  In another chemist’s shop they were quite rude; they didn’t mean to be but they were Saturday staff.  The boy and girl were giggling together and didn’t take any notice of me. They had no idea of what to do if someone brought tablets back instead of wanting to buy something.  Eventually they told me that the pharmacist was busy.  I couldn’t cope and stormed out.

“You have kept me waiting all this time and now you say the pharmacist’s busy! I’m never coming in this chemist’s shop again.”

Of course they didn’t understand, but it was all so hard for me.  Then I went to Tesco’s pharmacy instead, where it was handled straightforwardly and quite sensitively.

“So your daughter has died.  I’m so sorry.  Now you want to hand in her tablets. That’s fine, dear. I’ll just get the pharmacist.”

All that morphine – poor Sharon!  She’d had to take more and more as the weeks of illness went on.

One of my jobs on a Friday had been to “do the tablets”, putting one in this compartment, two in another, for each day; some to be taken four times a day, some only once a day. Was it before food or after? With water or without? I had to be careful to get it just right.

All that was over too.  M gave me the tablet box.  Another reminder.  Reminders everywhere.  Reminders of times when they had been happy, and the time when she’d been ill.  So many reminders and so much pain.

* * *

Now there was the funeral to arrange.  M and his Mum and Dad talked about what music she would like.  M’s idea was Shania Twain, one of Sharon’s favourite singers.  We listened to the CD to try to find the ones that Sharon liked best and which would fit best for the funeral.  We’d just about decided.

But later on M was going through some of Sharon’s paperwork and found that she’d put down some of her wishes for the funeral: “informal dress, lots of flowers, especially roses.”  Also she’d chosen some songs.

These were what she chose: Massive Attack: Teardrop; Will Young: Ain’t no sunshine; Alanis Morisette: Hand in my pocket; Dream a little Dream; Blink 182: All the small things.

M, Sue, Bert and I went down to the funeral directors to make arrangements.  I remember Bert was impatient as we waited to talk to Marion.  It was so hard to hang about and wait to sort out all these difficult things. Finally we talked to Marion. Sue and Bert knew her already.  We had to decide whether it was to be a burial or a cremation and then where she would be buried and in which church the service would be held. We had to choose the coffin and decide about the announcement we would put in the papers.  There was so much to sort out.  Marion was very good and guided us through it all.  We decided to do the flowers ourselves and to leave the grave stone until later. We went to a little place in Drayton for the flowers and chose the arrangements we thought Sharon would like.

With Marion’s assistance, we made arrangements to see the vicar. He was a kind man, a retired vicar who was happy to take the service, as the vicar of St Peters was not available at that time.  He wanted to know all the details he could, as he had not known Sharon personally and he wanted to say the right things.

We had to choose the hymns and readings for the funeral.  I said I would do an order of service sheet as I’d done for my Mum’s funeral.  We chose some of the same hymns: “Thine be the Glory” and the 23^rd Psalm: “The Lord is my Shepherd”.  We searched everywhere for the poem that Sharon had written about my Mum.  She had read it out so bravely and clearly at my Mum’s funeral a few years before.  But we couldn’t find it.  So we settled on “In the time of your life, LIVE”, and also the words of a song.  Tracy Knapp said she was happy to do one of the readings and Elaine Clare, Janice’s daughter, said she would do the other one.

There was a time to view Sharon’s body at the chapel of rest.  Sharon had written that she wanted to be buried in her wedding dress and Sue and I had found all the wedding stuff and taken it to the funeral directors.  Now M and Sue and I had come to see Sharon’s body.  M came in briefly, but he didn’t stay.  He said, “She’s not here” and went outside.  Sue and I stayed, but I was glad I had said my goodbyes to her just after she had died.  Sue said “She looks like she’s asleep” but I thought, “No, this isn’t Sharon. She’s gone.”  We looked at her and said how lovely she was.  I talked to her and prayed about her, but all the time I was thinking “She’s gone. She’s not here any more.”  Her body was so beautiful, but so cold and so empty.  The Sharon we had loved so much was gone forever.

* * *

The funeral was such a hard day for us all.  My sister and brother in law, Sue and Chris, had come from Somerset.  Janice and Leslie, Elaine and Helen had come from Preston.  Richard and his new partner, Sue, had come from Dorset.  Lindsay had come from Gloucestershire.  Various other friends and family had travelled to be there. Lots of Sharon and M’s friends were there; so were some of my friends from school. Sue Herbert and Tracey Knapp had come; Sue had prepared some lovely food for afterwards.

Sue and Bert were there, of course, and M sat beside them.  Sue and Chris and I came to the church together.  I hadn’t been to a service in that church before, but it had a warm atmosphere and the vicar was a nice man.  Nik didn’t come into the church, but was waiting for me in the cemetery, looking very smart in his brown jacket.  It was scary walking into the church; I didn’t know how I would cope with it.  I wanted so much for the ceremony to be just right to honour Sharon’s memory, but I didn’t see how it could be.  Nothing would be good enough for us, who had known and loved her.  It seemed so unreal too; how could she be dead when only a day or two before she had been with us, talking to us, smiling and listening to us?  How could she be gone?

I was glad to walk in with Sue and Chris as moral support.  One of the songs that Sharon had chosen was playing in the church.  The church was full of people, though I wanted there to be even more; there ought to be hundreds for such a sad occasion, but of course there were just a few dozen of us.

The vicar managed very well, considering he didn’t know Sharon.  For me he said the right things.  The hymns and the readings felt right too, but it was a struggle to get through it all.  It was a relief when the service finished and they started to play the last two songs that Sharon had chosen.  Strange but right to hear Blink 182’s ‘All the small things’ being played in church – such an angry song, with loud, rough guitar riffs, so full of life and love and fun – and so like Sharon to choose it.

It was just round the corner to the cemetery.  The pallbearers carried the coffin slowly and ceremoniously along the road and into the cemetery and we all walked after them.  The day was fine and dry.  We stood there by the grave as the words were said.  My sister had bought red roses for each of us to throw into the grave – such a lovely thought, as Sharon loved red roses.

“I left you roses …”

Nik stood beside me as I waited for it to end.  People came up and spoke words of comfort, friendship, sympathy and I must have replied, I suppose.  I couldn’t believe that Sharon was gone.  It couldn’t be true.  Perhaps it was a dream and I would wake soon and find her still there.  But it was true.  She had gone.

Quite a few people went to M’s house afterwards for something to eat and drink. We stood and chatted; I can’t remember what we talked about.  People don’t know how to talk after a funeral.  Some of us talked about Sharon, but some needed to talk of other things, to ‘get back to normal’.  I remember people being kind to me.  I remember feeling incredibly tired, but it wasn’t time to go yet, so I had another drink just to keep going.  Finally Nik and I said our goodbyes and left.  It was so strange that life was still going on, but there was no Sharon.

* * *

M had cut a couple of CDs with the funeral songs on, so we can listen to them and remember.  They were the songs she chose and now we can listen to them and think of her and cry.

Third song: Sometimes I Cry

Sometimes I cry
When I remember that you’ve gone.
Sometimes I sit and close my eyes
And put your special music on.
Feels like goodbye my friend
Although my love will never end.
Sometimes I cry.
Sometimes I cry.

Sometimes I cry
When I just long to see your face.
Although I gaze at photographs
They just can’t fill that empty space.
Feels like goodbye my friend
Although my love will never end.
Sometimes I cry.
Sometimes I cry.

Bridge Now you’re gone. Now you’re gone; just seems so lonely.
Now you’re gone. Now you’re gone; just seems so long.

Sometimes I cry
‘Cause I still miss you every day.
Although the time is passing by
That lonely pain don’t go away.
Feels like goodbye my friend
Although my love will never end.
Sometimes I cry.
Sometimes I cry.