Let’s get Moribund

I don’t know who he is or what he did but let’s get him anyway!

A few weeks ago I didn’t have armchair yoga on a Tuesday so I went so I went to Liverpool with a friend.  Pat commented when we got back to the car (no, of course I didn’t drive to the centre of Liverpool I drove us to the station) that B hadn’t phoned me.  He has this habit of ringing whenever I am out – he has been known to track me down via friends’ husband if I am not answering my phone to ask really, really important questions like ‘What’s the meaning of life?’. Okay it’s more like ‘Do you want your jim jams washing?’, ‘What day is it?’ that kind of thing.  However on this particular day I had been out of the house for nearly seven hours and when I checked my phone, which was in the car, no missed calls.

So shortly after I got home B asked for a hug – altogether now awwwwwwwwwwwww!  Turns out he’d had a bit of cry whilst I was out because he had opened a note I did back in March ’09.

Before I was dx’ed with MM the previous thought was a slipped disc for which I would need an op.  We had the tests at a private hospital where a friend’s brother in law had had an op and started to come round during the procedure which resulted in a free ambulance ride to the local NHS A & E.  So needless to say I was a soupson apprehensive.

Now I do like being in control organised so after the confusion that reigned at my father in laws funeral a few months earlier I wanted at all costs to avoid this at mine!  The m-i-l didn’t know which songs too choose, which verses, psalms all in front of an extremely odd priest who didn’t help. Now I know as a non-believer I may seem slightly biased but even one of B’s Aunts who is a regular church goer was less than impressed with him.  No-one knew where the donations should go, which flowers and a lot was about what other people would think of stuff.

So the day before we went to get the result of the MRI I did a note for Bernard and popped it in an envelope and sealed it.

I detailed who to tell with contact numbers, who to ask to the ‘fun’eral, what they should wear (anything they wanted), where to go for food after (two pubs near the creamatorium I’ve never actually been to but, hey, I won’t be eating so it doesn’t matter if the food sucks – they’re convenient).

The only flowers would be stargazer lilies from B as I had them in my wedding bouquet and I just LOVE the scent.

My wool and material stash would go to my Auntie En, as would my sewing machine if my Auntie Ann didn’t want it.

A few other bits and bobs, including a tiny bit of slushy stuff.

The donations, and here’s something I may wish to reconsider to include a myeloma charity, would go to WSPA and Dr Hadwen Trust.

The music would be 4am forever by Lost Prophets on the way in and When you were young by The Killers on the way out.

On that Tuesday B had decided 18 months after I’d written my list, and for no real reason, that he would open it and it upset him a little but I’m glad I did it because now I know that if I get hit by a bus tomorrow (which is unlikely as it is a work day so it would need to crash through the back bedroom first storey window) I get the ‘fun’eral I wanted and B doesn’t have to fret over wearing a black tie!

 

 

 

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3 responses to “Let’s get Moribund

  1. Wow – very organised! But I sympathise with B – reading it must have been hard.

    My Mum did the same thing and it was much easier to plan the service, knowing what she thought was the right thing. Saved my Dad having to make decisions at a time when none of us knew what day of the week it was, let alone make music choices.

  2. You are too funny, girl. Not long after Tim was diagnosed, he told me he was thinking of going to the local funeral home(2 blocks from our house) and making some arrangements so as to make it easier on me should he decide to check-out on us. I was so stunned and sad, I walked out of the room and lost my mind in the other room. I know it is a practical thing and very selfless on his part but it is a very hard thing to deal with. We have had some conversations about this now that the shock of diagnosis is long past but I don’t know where the heck he expects me to find an antique, horse drawn hearse. And who cleans up after the horse after mussing up a few miles of suburban roads? I suppose the bagpipers better wear their high boots. :o/

  3. What a beautiful post. We should all leave directions like that for our families.

    And suddenly now, I want to move near a pub. . .

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