A week and one day ago a strong, cheery, welcoming and wonderful woman lost her battle and slipped away from this place. It is easy to be morbid and angry when a family member dies but when my Sister spoke about her Mother in law's struggle with illness, played out over fifteen weeks, I was sad but relieved when she was at peace.
Joan Mullins 1927 - 2009 was a tremendously wonderful individual; she welcomed our family into hers unconditionally. Hers consists of five children, multiple grandchildren, step grandchildren and great grandchildren, step grandchildren. When you add in cousins, second cousins and then honorary uncles, aunts and friends the chance of remembering all by name is difficult.
Joan was never without a smile on her face. She would conspire at family meals out with my Dad to an extra dessert. The would goad each other about what they would try, usually swapping bowls half way through. She with her walking stick and him in his wheelchair they were a pair of challenged-chucklers. With my Mum she struck up a close friendship during weekly trips to the supermarket, started to help Joan out but which morphed into laughter, friendship and support.
The strange thing for me was she knew my grandmother.
It is an odd feeling when someone comes into your life, who is not a blood relative, with whom you can talk about someone who died over thirty years before. It felt odd and at first I was reticent about it. Then a strange thing happened; the more she talked the more I saw my grandmother; Nan.
My Nan stood five feet ten to my grandad's five feet two - she was a striking woman. Joan spoke about her with warmth and kindness, remembering a strong lady who suffered no fool gladly but was quick witted, easy to move to laughter and practical. For the first time in years I could see her standing in her simple kitchen, wearing her overall, hands reddened with hot water soreness. It was gift that I shall be eternally grateful to Joan for. We didn't talk for long or at any great depth but that little insight was such a comfort that I will carry it forever.
I have written before about how each funeral is unique because each of us are one of a kind. With Joan this was also true.
Her life story was told; raised eyebrows all round about her surviving diptheria at six years old when she gained her strong and loving faith; the work during the war, the meeting of "her Rob" a husband with whom she had five children all of whom they taught to sing and, crucially, to sing together in harmony.
The service was full of hymns, prayers and consoling statements about her faith. Even for someone like me who has no definitive belief but who thinks of himself as a constant questioner it felt right and while there were tears there was enough celebration and laughter to lift out of grief and into hope.
At the wake, I looked around the room at nearly two hundred people; mostly family. I saw the twinkling of eyes as stories were told, the same mischievous glint that Joan had. Rockets of laughter with plumes of giggles lifted from the murmur as one of the Joan-isms was shared. But it was the warmth and love that filled that room; effortless, unconditional and welcoming that made me think of that lady. Each one of her children, grandchildren, step grandchildren and on and on has a little piece of her love of life and laughter. Some of us were lucky enough to come into the family by marriage and join in with these harmonies.
Joan will be missed but when you look around a room like that and see the love, goodness and easy laughter you realise that, faith or not, there is something deeper being passed on through good people. It is an immortality of a kind tangible as stone.
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