A funeral

Yesterday we attended the funeral of Joan’s Uncle John. John, or ‘Boy’ as he was called was 84 and died from complications associated with prostate cancer. Having so many children, grandchildren, great grandchildren and friends it was a big funeral.
'Boy’ was for many years Deputy Principal at the West Australian Deaf School, a lovely old building overlooking Mosman Park and the Indian Ocean. At the funeral was a large group of his ex-students looking like they were in their 70s. Lots of rapid hand movement and loud voices were heard as the cortege moved up towards the crematorium. Once everyone was settled inside, a priest commenced the service in a thick Filipino accent. One of Boy’s grandsons, who is also deaf, stood near the lectern to translate the service. It was obvious that he was having trouble understanding what was being said and with a rapid hand movement let people know that he was giving up on that task.

There was an earlier Mass for Boy, but we gave that a miss because Joan was very tired even before we left for the cemetery.

Funerals often present an opportunity for people to ‘catch up’ with relatives and acquaintances with whom one would not usually do so. I saw plenty of that on Wednesday.