He died very early on the Sunday morning. We went to the hospital to view the body. We couldn't drive to the hospital becouse nemisis had taken the car to a party in Kent. We had to call my over emotional Aunt who lives down the road. She was crying when she arrived. I was very calm. I asked her if she wanted me to drive, she said no and set off. Half way there she satrted crying again and had to pull over so I could take the wheel.

He looked like he was sleeping. OE Aunt started wailing and collapsed in a heap. The air matress he was lying in was still turned on. It vibrated gently, giving the impression to some that he was still breathing. He was cold and stiff. They haddn't tried to resussitate him. When you are that ill, there is no point.

We went home and hurriedly cleaned and tidied the house shoving junk in cupboards and digging out photos of him to display prominantly. We would be inundated with visitors as soon as word go out. I went to the supermarket and bought 200 teabags, 2 kilos of sugar and 6 litres of milk.

Over the next 8 days our house was full to the brim with people paying their respects. We hired a marque for the back garden. My aunts cooked non stop to feed the visitors. The house still smells like wot.

OE Aunt took the week off work and helped to make the funeral arrangements. I would have liked to help, but they wouldn't let me. I felt impotent. I couldn't even talk to my mother to offer support because she was surrounded by people day and night.
I went to work. I didn't tell any one what was happening at home. I could have had compassionate leave. But what was the point. I had nothing to do and the invasion of my home was making me agitated. I took my time coming home from the gym.

The next saturday we viewed the body at the funeral parlour. He looked like a wax work. It was awful. OEm Aunt started wailing and again fell to the floor, again. I was starting to well up and was about to shed a tear until she started wailing. She distracted me from my emotions. All I could do was stare.

She did it again at the funeral-this time without the falling to her knees. Just lots and lots of wailing. If you didn't know better you would have assumed that she was the grieving widow. My mother cried quietly a few times. The priest gave a sermon about not crying for him because he was in a better place. His best friend read out a beautiful eulogy. I learned things about him I never knew and felt bad for not atempting to get to know him better.