Post 484: The last farewell and fifteen weeks to go.
I’ve woken up with an aching back, so I’ll be careful in all I do today.
The oxygen sats are still a little low at 94/95, so getting up and down the stairs means I’ll need to be cautious.
I’m not yet worried about the oxygen reading because I’m not having any other symptoms alongside the slight breathlessness.
I’ll cross my fingers that it stays that way and nothing needs to happen in the way of medicating the heart back to normal.
There was some great news from our neighbour this morning, in the form of a text and some lovely photos.
His darling Becca has given birth to a beautiful, bouncing baby boy.
They’ve called him Albie.
Everything is wonderful and Imogen is loving her new 7lb 9oz brother.
Fantastic news.
And it only adds to the excitement of our own grandchild-to-be arriving in November.
For the moment our baby-to-be is variously called P-nut, Melon, Baby-C and simply The Baby.
We wish we knew the baby’s name so we could get used to calling it a real name.
But we chose the names of our two boys on the day they were born, so we just need to be patient.
We’ll have his whole life to get used to his name.
And the countdown is rolling on.
Only fifteen weeks to go.
⸻
The last farewell was well attended.
In the thirty-degree sunshine, some of us met up at the graveyard and said hello to Mum.
It was a chance to chat to each other before we sat around the fourteen seats arranged along a long, straight dining table.
Before leaving, we chatted and pushed some lovely red and yellow roses into the holes in the top of the water vase, making a simple but pretty flower arrangement.
We also talked about getting Mum’s name and dates added to the existing small headstone.
That will be a job for a professional, and the whole family thought it would be best if the changes could be done sooner rather than later.
Walking around the graveyard, circling the church, was strange.
Every step produced a crunch from the dry grass beneath our feet. It’s been cut short and was golden brown.
Not a green blade in sight. That’s how dry this summer has become.
The promised rain still hasn’t arrived and the shy clouds are few and far between.
There’s going to be a big cheer when we finally do get some rainfall.
Although I suspect we’re going to need so much of it to replenish the water table that we’ll all be fed up with the rain very soon after it starts.
I love the heat and this unbelievably dry summer. But I know someone who doesn’t.
My Darling prefers wind and rain.
She’s having a very long wait for a drop of water.
⸻
After a little while we left the graves and headed off to the restaurant side of the pub up the road, where we had booked our table and given our choices for the main courses.
We settled down with our drinks and waited for service. The staff and food were remarkably professional and tasty.
The sound of chatter and laughter filled the big room, and the clatter of knives and forks was actually a pleasant noise as everyone tucked into their food.
My sausage and mash was too much for me. I couldn’t possibly punish myself with a pudding afterwards. My Darling’s steak and chips, on the other hand, was followed by a hearty platter of cheese and biscuits.
And more smiles.
All in all, we had a blast and there were no complaints.
As we left, two by two, the bill was gradually paid until I was the last one at the checkout.
There were a few extra things I paid for on behalf of forgetful relatives, which is why I was still there. I paid the bill and added a tip.
The night was tip-top.
And I had no qualms about paying a little extra because we’ll probably go back again and the food was reasonably priced.
It was a lovely way to finish Mum’s farewell.
A family together.
A good meal.
A few stories.
A few laughs.
And Mum finally and happily where she belongs.
(Fifteen weeks to go).
Sleep well.
Take care.
