Uncle Bill...

This morning I got up at the crack of dawn to travel to London with my family to say farewell to my Uncle Bill who died on 28th December.

I never thought it possible to have a nice time at a funeral but we did. I've often heard it said that a funeral should be a celebration of someone's life but I've never seen it that way. Until today. That's exactly what today was. A celebration of a life, taken too soon, taken before it had expired.

We shared memories of our childhood with the family we spent all of our holidays with. Stories were told, laughter was more prominent than tears and I can only hope that when it's my time, my friends and family leave my farewell party feeling the same way we felt tonight. 

Real friends are the family you choose for yourself.  Real friends are those we can see with months or years having gone by between visits and feel as though we saw them just yesterday. We fit in just the same. It's comfortable and easy.

We can leave them at the church, armed with their house keys, let ourselves in, kick off our shoes and make ourselves at home, doing the guided tour of their new (to me) house before putting the kettle on. To walk into their house and see how full it is of old things with history, beautiful furniture and clutter, lots of clutter, just made me want to move in immediately. My sort of house, my sort of furniture, my sort of everything! Beautiful.

We can open the wine and then spend the next few hours round the kitchen table laughing at the memories of home made wine and the fact that someone, somewhere has a new (to them) liver enabling them to drink a bucket of whisky and not be pickled. We can laugh about all of our quirks and strops and funny stories from years gone by and feel all warm inside.

We can look at their children's children and see a carbon copy of the kids we hung out with when we were wee and remember all those moments we shared in at home in Scotland, camping in France or being tourists with them in their new home in London and in all the other places we visited together. 

We can spend time with those children's parents, who are now grown up just like us, and know that we were privileged in the childhood we had together. The days where we spent our summer holidays out on our bikes, getting home when it was dark without a care in the world, knowing that we could do the same thing all over again the next day and have just as much fun. How lucky we were. 

My Uncle Bill would have loved today. He'd have loved chattering to all those people who loved him. We missed his presence, but we'll not forget those treasured moments from our youth where he was squeezing ten of us in one car or fishing keys out of a drain in the service station, driving round Paris twice because we were lost and having the kids writing signs saying 'help we're lost!' to hold up at the windows or having just one more whisky at the end of an evening.   

My Auntie Linda will miss him terribly but she's a strong lady and has her kids and grandkids round her with friends and extended family giving love, support and shepherds pies. Uncle Bill will be a sad loss to everyone whose life he touched but his send off was a credit to him and to his family and friends. I wish for us all to have the same.

Bill's son's wife, Fiona read this poem and it fits in perfectly with how he lived his life. Full to the brim.

He is gone...

You can shed tears that he is gone
Or you can smile because he has lived

You can close your eyes and pray that he will come back 
Or you can open your eyes and see all that he has left

Your heart can be empty because you can't see him 
Or you can be full of the love that you shared

You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday
Or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday

You can remember him and only that he is gone
Or you can cherish his memory and let it live on  

You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back
Or you can do what he would want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on.

David Harkins 1981

RIP William Stewart Michie 
4th September 1939 - 28th December 2014