Funerals...I miss you.

Yesterday I attended my Great Aunt's funeral. She was actually, and still is -biologically, my Once Removed Grandmother. She was a truly wonderful person, and I am not saying that because I am scared to talk ill of the dead, or because I want to sound nice. She was a wondeful person. She was kind, she was generous -- but she was always there for me. She helped me with my inspiration for writing. She used to write me letters, asking me how the story writing went. I loved her so much and I never managed to say how much I appreciated her. Yesterday I was allowed obviously to take the day of school. I, in suprising shock realized it was the day. The day I was to watch my beloved Aunt being buried. I played around a bit - quite worried and nervous - I had never really been to a funeral; well, I had to My Great Grandmother, whom I loved a huge amount, more than words can say, but when I went to the funeral I was so young I didn't really understand she was dead, let alone remembered what I was supposed to do. So you see, It was kind of the first time I'd been to a funeral, that I understood. It was a load of pressure. I dressed up in a lovely outfit - My mum's £70 Reese Skirt (Gosh, that is one of the most expensive skirts I've worn and I felt like I was wearing a skirt with five pound notes pasted all over it) ; it was black with pleats and two huge golden buttons on the top of it on each side, and a silky(ish) rim below the pleats. Matching it I wore a pleated woolly black top with cut off sleeves, which I liked, a studded black diamond Alice Band, and white and silver pumps, and a ring and A black kitty bag ; along with dabbing Rose lip balm into my lips and coating my eyes in tanned shadow. We had a bit of a hysterical drive there, nearly being late - The road was closed and Mum took one and a half hours to get ready (I'm serious and its a long story) But we eventually got there. We walkeda about the graveyard. We couldn't find where the service was being held. We saw mournful faces, faces old with age and missing their relatives, we saw people talking and comforting another. We walked around. Dad finally stopped at one place, which seemed Like Aunt Pat's funeral service and asked politely;
"This is for Patricia Kemp?"
"Yes, Yes." Said the Priest, with sympathy in his voice.
We walked in, I put all my elegance into it. I tried to hold my head up, and walked straight. The music began, I think, and the Preist came in. He said a speech about my Aunt Patricia that I won't repeat or I shall burst into explosive tears. It was beautiful. As my name was mentioned as her Granddaughter, I got a gulp in my throat. I never really knew she was my Grandma. People told me I was her distant neice, which I was, but if you see what I mean. I also never knew her son died. And two of her twins. That hit me quite hard, that did. We were asked to bow our heads to prayer with the Preist. As I did I had to keep biting my lip to prevent me from crying. I tried to be as well-behaved as possible, bowing my head, showing sympathy to Great Aunt Patty's poor soon, Alan - who was about thirty or so and looked very upset. We had to sing hymns and I tried to sing well but my voice was kind of drained in all the other older people's voices, as their voices were deeper. My mum didn't even sing. She's cruel, my mum, and I won't go into it. She refused to actually go to the funeral. And when she came, the first thing she worries about in the middle of a speech is she bursts into angry whispering about why I'm not wearing my black matching Cardie. Dear oh Dear. But I did not get distracted, even when she slapped my finger at my ring that was 'too flashy' (remarked by my mum, but it wasn't flashy- it was casual), me and dad made up for it by being there for Aunt Pat. At the end of the indoor service, and me gulping nearly crying as she, my Grandmother, was brought in my smart-in-suits men, solemnly holding her coffin on their shoulder. Then we went to the graveyard, another time a prayer was said, and I can say one of the saddest things that ever happened to me was watching her in the coffin being lowered by ropes deep in the ground, but throughout the funeral, I felt someone was with me, and I knew exactly that it was her. I am still sad about it, of course, but she is watching over me, and I know still she is encouraging me with my writing, laughing with her friends as she used to, and still sending me little Birthday cards up where she is and signing them with her lovely handwriting I remember so vividly. After the funeral mum messed up entirely, causing everyone to suffer and sacrifice for her as everyone does for her. One day I hope someone will finally say 'no' to her. I have never known someone who gets everything and always gets their way like her. I am not the kind of person who likes to thing poorly of people like that, I don't - I am meerly saying sometimes I wish she could have that, kind of, normal instinct - that mums are supposed to have. I do love her though. And I loved Great Aunt Patty too. Another adventure I had - Was....I MET JACQUELINE WILSON THE AUTHOR!!!! AT 6.00PM YESTERDAY I WENT TO HER BOOK SIGNING...SHE TALKED TO MEEE! I WILL UPLOUD THE PICS TOMORROW!