Saying Goodbye

Post date: Feb 27, 2013 4:44:24 AM

Given how much Jack liked cars one of the poems that was read was from Rudyard Kipling called the Dying Chaffeur

Wheel me gently to the garage, since my car and I must part--

No more for me the record and the run.

That cursed left-hand cylinder the doctors call my heart

Is pinking past redemption -- I am done!

They'll never strike a mixture that'll help me pull my load.

My gears are stripped--I cannot set my brakes.

I am entered for the finals down the timeless untimed Road

To the Maker of the makers of all makes!

It is a special time to share that final goodbye - but always hard.

Writing this at Blenheim airport waiting for the flight home. Been here today with Jenny, Peter and Simon Olliver, Shirley and about 90 others for Jack's funeral. Jack (Jenny's Dad) has been struggling for the past two years and his death on Friday, like with Pop's 22 years ago was in many ways a relief.Saying that last goodbye is hard - no matter how much the end of pain is welcomed. Shirley, who if you remember her at all will be as a bossy, very opinionated even more Jenny-like woman - became distraught. Simon who was of course incredibly close to his Pop couldn't manage to read his eulogy through his tears. Peter took the service and by the end was looking exhausted.

As Claire didn't make it back from London I had been asked to read her eulogy. Following Simon's very emotional one was hard but I managed without disgracing myself.

This photo is as I remember Jack. Simon showed me a picture of him with his Pop after his dentistry graduation in December - same glasses but face about 1/4 of the width here. Like Gran a skeleton.