Annalise

by Ian Bysh

I was wondering what to blog about, thinking my life lacked anything of interest, when I remembered last week I went to a funeral. This happens so very rarely and is such a defining feature of life that I wondered at myself and how Annalise’s funeral could have failed to register on my schedule of interesting things that have happened to me recently and about which I could blog.

Maya is the mistress deceiver. Maybe she had distracted me with more layers. And come to think of it, she has been laying them on thick just recently: Jo might buy me a house, my daughter has her GCSEs, I am conducting a concert in about six hours. And in the midst of all that, there is this huge unacknowledged fact of Annalise’s death hanging over me. Even at her funeral I was focussing more on seeing all my friends from university thirty years on. They are far more crinkly than they used to be. And balder. And tubbier. But at the same time, they’re exactly the same. The same ticks, the same rails in the brain directing the same thoughts the same way. Of course Boris would say that I heard myself thinking, being faced anew with Boris.

And now, even talking about Annalise’s funeral, I am still distracted from the main event by the supporting cast of my ancient friends. Annalise, beautiful and wise, god mother to my daughter, has died. Like I said to Monmouth – dying was her best gift to me. Because in dying while I am still fizzing with life, she has made me remember what I have.

It’s still not working though Annalise, because I am still distracted by my depression about the water leaks and my stolen bicycle and my fried phone. And, dear Annalise, if you cannot bring me to face my mortality, then I fear the universe will have to intervene with a near death experience of my own. And I don’t think I’d like to have to deal with that just now.

Here is a link to the video Annalise chose to be played during the committal. She was a very clever lady: //www.youtube.com/watch?v=GNM6R6QV9vo

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