That was what a senior member of the congregation said today after the funeral of the dad of one of my best friends.

And it was an enjoyable funeral.

This is the grandson who looked so grown up and cool in his pink shirt and stipey pants.

I guess the reason why the service was so lovely was because it was so personal.

My brave beautiful friend spurned the lecturn and sat down on the edge of the catafalque and created an instantly intimate atmosphere while she told us some things about her dad.

His philosophies, his habits, his life.

She was engaging, at times funny and she painted a portrait of her dad that all of us could take with us.

Then her ex stood up and did a more formal eulogy.

It was the perfect balance.

Instead of flowers, a copy of The Guardian (I think it was) was put on the coffin. In case he might like to do the crossword.

Afterward, we went to a gorgeous restaurant for lunch and to catch up.

I felt weirded out.

First because the funeral had taken place where my dear friend H had had his service and I was sitting with the same two fabulous girls I was sitting with then.

It collapsed time a bit.

It felt odd.
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And also I think because I have another funeral on Friday.

Someone who I knew quite well.

Someone who I saw in hospital the day before he died.

I guess I’m in a vulnerable place.

Man – talk about a rollercoaster of feelings this week.

I like funerals though… except for the fact that someone has died of course.

I like what they do for people.

How they bring people together.

How the music lifts people’s souls – both living and one presumes the dead as well.

I love to see how people handle death.

Each one is so different.

Each one, in its own way, special.

But one a week is enough.

More than enough.