Funeral We head out the door. I get in the car. It's a bit of a drive, so I put my headphones in and play something to set the mood, "Rues Farewell" a track from the Hunger Games. There's nothing to say, so I just listen. I'm sat behind my mother, and can only watch the expressions in her reflection on the side mirror. She's trying not to cry, it's not going so well. We arrive at my great aunts house where all the family and friends have gathered for the departed. A mans dog is waiting for something. Someone. To throw him his ball, instead he's surrounded by strangers all taking a hand in stroking him. There's a string on the wall, he jumps up at it, bites the ball attached to it and rings a bell, wonder who taught him that. Whoever he's waiting for probably. Who he's waiting for won't be coming back. We head out of the drive, off to a church in the middle of a town. A man in a top hat walks swinging a cane in front of the stretched purpose car. Traditional. We have trouble parking in the cramped town, the church out of place but we make it inside. "I dreamed a dream" is playing. That sets my mum off crying, which sets me off. The ceremony is nice enough, the step-grandchildren made a #poem that's read out by the vicar that mentions a nick name from his old job, driving skips around. "Mick the Skip" they call him. Theists annoy me, he keeps telling us god owns us, Jesus did this Jesus did that, if you believe in him he can do anything, "ANYTHING" he repeats. Then why won't he bring Michael back? Today isn't about god or pilgrims, it's a about Michael. I just ignore the praying and singing and try not to pay attention to how bad people are at singing. His girlfriend also has a message, that makes me cry again. He was 69 but they never married. It ends, we leave to an upbeat song about señoritas and saxophones, I can't remember the name but it's a song you'd expect someone like Mick to have at his funeral. Full of #life even after his death. I start to wonder what songs will play at my funeral. Depressing. We pile out of the door as six men, friends and relatives, pile his coffin into the car again. We drive to the crematorium, I don't know what I expected to see, a small oven? Instead it's a little building. I read the memorials on the wall, one in particular, "little Bubba, born sleeping". A short secondary sermon is give, telling us this is the last goodbye. The vicars back, suggesting we don't know the meaning of goodbye, and somehow it translates into "god be with you". B.S, I think. As he speaks, music begins to play and a purple curtain starts to close, concealing the coffin behind it. That's when the real crying starts, Val, mum, everyone closest to him has to stop themselves choking on their tears. So of course now I'm off again. As the priest says his final words, I swear I can hear the torches starting to eat away at the wood, even though it's in another room. We leave the room and wait for the widow to say thanks for coming, when it comes to me she's already teary-eyed. She asks if I'm okay, of all things, not thinking of herself, we hug and that makes me cry.. Again. My sister and I have to head back to the car straight after as I'm crying far too much for strange eyes to see, even though it's expected at a funeral. My father cried too. He never cries. The cricket club after meal is just a happier gathering of everyone. Food is lay out but no one wants to eat first, so my dad swoops in and my cousins all congratulate him on starting the feeding frenzy. I don't eat much, but enough. We leave early because there's no reason to stay, dad offered to take us back so why not? We need to say bye to Val, the deceased's girlfriend, when we do it's worse than before. She makes us promise we'll still go and see her, and tell my sister and I that we did a wonderful thing for Mick by going to see him, half the people at the funeral haven't been to see him since I don't know when, they don't have the right to cry. We hug again and leave. When we get in the car, for the first time, dad puts one of my cd's on. Soundtracks. Sad soundtracks. It's not so bad when we get home, no more red faces, no more crying. I know soon his ashes will be spread under a tree he used to sit under with his dogs and have a smoke. No more cigarettes. No more Great uncle Mick. "Mick the Skip."