Singing through tears.....

Every funeral is different because the person being celebrated is different; it's as obvious as the differences in the mourners. But it is the unexpected that makes each one magical. That Uncle who turns up and reconnects with all his relatives after years in the wilderness, the two Aunts who sit talking to each other despite them both being totally deaf, the sons who as a final act carry their beloved mother's coffin, jaws set, unflinching and strong; as she intended.

I could write about the abundance of flowers, the humanist Minister, Leslie's, perfect reading about Mo's life, loves and laughter but it is the music in her life and her funeral. Maureen, Mo, was all about music; from singing in the clubs with her band in Dublin as a teenager, to supporting Ian - her husband, a bandsman in the army and a great sax player who played a Ronnie Scotts - to her love of the great of Opera and popular music.

But there was one magical moment that broke hearts during the service. There was a piece from Madam Butterfly played after talking about her life. In the gathering was Mo's eighty-four year old Italian Aunt, Pina; a handsome woman with a face used to smiling, abundant silver curls and slim figure. She had arrived with her two sons, from Cambridge, and struggled with her mobility scooter to get into the crematorium; but having got where she wanted to be she sat with tears streaming down her face, eyes shining and nodding to every truth of her niece's life.

Then the Puccini was played.

As the vocal soared and took all our hearts to places only angelic voices can, another joined them. Underneath, below the high tones came Aunt Pina's; strong, proud, passionate and in fluent Italian. She sang for her Mo and broke every heart in the place with a display of unashamed love and pride to celebrate a beautiful, special woman. It was her own tribute, in a away only she could do.

It was a privilege to know my partner's Mum, to laugh with her, care for her and to look after her on her final journey.

Words are sometimes useless and we struggle for a grasp on how we feel or how we should react. But at that moment when our English reserve made us bow our heads to cry there was one among us who turned her face up and sang for us all. To witness that was also such a privilege.