One of Robin's weird and wonderful ceramics - one of two hippos, his gift to my cousin a few years ago, cooling off in the shade round the new pond in their garden - a reminder of our African childhood connection.
Last Saturday we were late for my cousin's funeral. I was driving, my brother was in charge of the SatNav, my big sister was in charge of the map, my husband was in charge of comments on the beauty of the Welsh countryside and we were all in charge of the timing. Which somehow we let slip into another dimension after we stopped for the picnic lunch I'd packed at The Old Station near Tintern Abbey. After that, the minutes sped away as we stuttered in traffic in Monmouth and flew down the winding lanes, trumpeted with lacy cow parsley, hunting for the Woodland Burial site.
We were the last to arrive at the long barn already packed to the rafters with his family and friends all come to honour and remember him. He would have laughed though at our lateness as he was often the one who would arrive after the start of some family event, full of apologetic smiles. But I was just always happy to see him whatever time it was.
Which is why I'm still struggling to imagine that I won't see him again. It was a beautiful funeral, everyone speaking from their hearts - hurting raw with the loss of him - remembering the laughter, the gentleness and the goodness of him.
I'll never forget the sight of his woven wicker coffin, strewn with spring flowers, carried high on the shoulders of the ones who love him.... carried along a wide mown path through a wild flower meadow...... laid to rest in the deep red earth....... circled by the ones who love him....... sung into the the deep red earth by the ones who love him. One heart beat spade of red earth at a time.
Leaving us. Blessing us with his life.
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