Saturday morning

The house is quiet, and it is grey outside. Today would have been Geoff's birthday. In fact, my phone just beeped to tell me that. I did not need reminding. Some things you do not forget.

Yesterday was real. Over 400 people went to the funeral, and as you drive across the bridge to the town, the first thing you see is the bank of flowers. Bouquets tied to the railings near to where Jono died. So close to the place we searched. I had no idea where the church was other than that it was on a hill, and so I whizzed through the town until I saw a steeple. I was late, and had forgotten the map at home, but thankfully, remembered the way across country. It took about 2 hours to reach Downham Market from school, and so help me, there are speed cameras all the way there. And tractors. I parked miles away and ran. I had to stand in the doorway, as there was no space left in the church, but I could hear everything. It was a beautiful service - a tribute to such a young life. And then we walked to the cemetary for the burial. I don't recall ever being to a burial before, and the finality of it all really struck home.

David and I were home by 6.30 and he went to his youth group last night, while I sort of melted into the couch. Too tired to cook or to eat.

I watched my son, my "baby", shake Jono's Dad's hand and tell him that "there is no question that I would be anywhere other than here" when Nick thanked him for coming, and I saw the man he has become. And my heart nearly burst.

A difficult day for me. But how much more difficult for Jono's parents.