Day 24 of Grief: The Stubbly Hairs at the Bottom of his Nose

(From my recordings). On the Friday of my Mammy’s funeral, I came home and said, Darren, I need to get drunk and grieve this properly by myself (with him obviously). I don’t need loads of people around me to do that.

I knew I’d get teary, but I’d be OK. I’m not… I don’t drink to get upset, kind of thing. I’m not one of those people who drinks to start crying or cause a commotion. So I had some wine, and spent the evening chatting about her, telling funny stories, and yes, I cried. Many times.

Daniel was upstairs playing on his computer but I called him down as I thought we should say somethings about Nanny, just talk and remember her.

And I sang Blueberry Hill because Mammy loved Blueberry Hill and she taught me the song when I was no age. Tears were tripping me.

Later that night, when I was in bed, and for a few nights after it, I kept thinking to myself…She’s in there, in the ground, and she’s going to be cold. She’s going to be cold down in the mud, in a wooden coffin. She hasn’t got her coat on. She’ll be freezing.

I knew she was dead. I knew she was in the coffin. I knew her body was gone and things like that, but…but I think there was a part of my brain still not really accepting she was gone, so I continued to worry about her, the way I normally would.

I said to Darren about it, and he goes, You know it’s not real.

And I went, I know it’s not real, but it’s just this… this worried part of me that’s worried about her. That she’s cold and lonely and wondering where we all are.

And then that morning discovering Darren…when I touched that door. I had to push it in just enough to get my finger in, just to feel him to check him.

I can’t forget it.

There was still this hope.

I didn’t want to hurt him.

I didn’t want to push the door too much in case I hurt him.

And he must have been dead by then.

And I didn’t see him then, except for that touch. That tiny bit of touch where I could feel the back of his arm. The top of his arm. I didn’t see him again until he was put into the wee room. And then we didn’t see him until he was up in the funeral home, and he was dressed up.

Darren had these wee, sort of stubbly hairs at the end of his nose. I used to point them out to him, we laughed at them. But I used to always feel them. I used to be fascinated by them.

And there they were, still with him in the funeral home. And I had to touch them, but in doing so, I ended up taking off a bucket of makeup.

So his whole face looked perfectly Max Factored with foundation, or whatever they use in funeral homes, bar his nose. Which was fucking purple. This wee bit of his nose. A streak of purple down his nose.

Because I’d rubbed it so much.

Because it was the one wee thing, you know. That one we thing that was him.