We buried my brother Pete on Friday in a beautiful spot in the churchyard in Wheatley near Oxford where we grew up as kids. It's difficult for all of us when you see your brother/son/Dad/friend being lowered into the grave when only a few days before he was his usual ebullient self. Strangely, though, I felt euphoric. During the preceding days, trying to come to terms with the shock of his unexpected death, helping to arrange all the many details required for the funeral, worrying about family squabbles and so on, was quite draining. However, on the day, with all the heightened emotion, meeting so many of his friends from different walks of life, reacquainting myself with so many relatives who made great efforts to come despite short notice, the consumption of a fair bit of alcohol to help with the release of emotion, and the fact that everything turned out so well with scarcely a hitch made for an extraordinary day that will long live in the memory.
Now of course, there exists a permanent gap that Pete once filled with which we will have to live and with which only time will help us cope.
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