The outpouring of grief since the Queen died has been phenomenal. Carpets of flowers, crowds of people and then there’s THE QUEUE, which can probably be seen from space!
I’ll confess I’m a bit ambivalent about all the fuss, I understand the need for a release of emotion but the flowers to me are a waste, and the pageantry and protocol seems over the top.
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| tributes for the Queen - image from Metro |
My biggest concern is for the wellbeing of the immediate
family and close friends, how abhorrent it must be to be filmed at every turn,
practically every tear measured. When King Charles had a fit at the leaky pen
my heart went out to him. For all his privilege and wealth this is intrusive.
He is a seventy something year old man mourning the loss of his beloved mother,
not that long after laying his father to rest.
This is the part he was always born to play but at such a
time as this his emotions will be all over the place. And the same goes for the
rest of the royals, from the oldest to youngest, those used to being in the
public eye and those more used to being on the periphery, suddenly being
scrutinised far more than usual.
The media can be a voracious beast devouring its prey and
all too often those of us looking on lap it up.
If only there could be a halt on proceeding, a chance to just
breathe, some space away from twenty-four-hour news.
I guess it won’t be long until this news cycle is over and
most of the family can retreat and process their grief more privately, some
member won’t get that luxury.
There is now some deliberation as to whether Prince George
will make an appearance at his great granny’s funeral. That is a huge ask of a nine-year-old,
only his parents can make that informed decision. There will be critics either
way.
I was thirteen when my great nana died and hers was the
first funeral I went to, co-incidentally she was 96, a good age, an expected
funeral, the perfect introduction to the ritual.
The first funeral my youngest son went to was his dad’s –
that’s a bit harsh when you are a month shy of being eleven. However, he was old
enough to know what was happening and certainly old enough to know his own mind
and how he wanted to honour his dad.
Andrew’s coffin was wheeled into the crematorium rather than
carried, One of Andrew’s brothers wanted to be involved, the other vehemently refused,
one nephew volunteered, one didn’t. Oldest son stepped forward and then
youngest said with determination he wanted to help too. It was a proud moment
watching them with tears in my eyes, but the scene was only witnessed by very
close family. It wasn’t a public spectacle.
I do hope the young royals get some choice in how they wish
to proceed. And I hope all of them get the private space to mourn in the ways
that are best for them.
Grief is inevitable but how we grieve is both optional and never-ending.
I have been slightly surprised by how much of my own grief
has resurfaced at this time, memories of losing grandparents, my dad and of
course losing Andrew. The afternoon of the Queen’s death we were scattering
ashes of my aunt and uncle, followed up with tea and cake. A family gathering
that foreshadowed the royal announcement.
Death is all around us, very much a part of life and yet the
subject is still very much taboo. When Andrew died it took me months to even
understand what grieving was all about. I thought it was finite and never knew
it came in many shades of grey and blue not one size fits all BLACK.
My best piece of advice to anyone grieving is do what you
need to do to get through each day, whether you laugh, cry or scream, every
emotion is valid.
Let’s hope the royals get the chance to grieve without worrying
how the world sees them because they have lost a loved one who means more to
them than she could even mean to us.
