I’ve been putting this off for a while now but here goes. I haven’t updated this blog for a while. This has two reasons. The first being that the japanese course I’m studying right now has a ridiculous amount of homework that needs doing. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem but then there’s this:
My father died this october.
Yeah…..so I’ve been feeling physically unwell, have had to deal with this and had to quit everything for a while. I’ve almost catched up to the japanese course now but not had much time to draw stuff. Anyway, the rest of this post will be a kind of transcript of the funeral for those who knew my father but couldn’t attend it. If you’re just here for the pictures, scroll down to the end for one.
So, what happened? Let’s start with the facts. He suffered from not one, but two strokes, each on my and my brothers birthdays. Then he died two days later. I haven’t cried much but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt. It really hurt like hell. After what seemed like an eternity, I was finally able to go back to my hometown to attend the funeral. My mother and a select few of fathers closest friends helped arrange all the matters that needed attending to. I have nothing but thanks for my mother who despite being divorced for years went through a lot of trouble to make everything surrounding the funeral work.
The funeral was finally held on the 28 of october. Attending were a diverse group of about 20 neighbours, old friends and family. My father was not a fan of big events so we felt it appropriate to make a priority of quality over quantity. No priest, a modest hall and coffin and an array of flowers yet a whole lot more feeling put into it than an overly expensive thing.
The ceremony clocked in at around 45 minutes, where my brother, I and my mother held it by ourselves. My brother started off with looking back at father’s life. He was an excellent football player and later on trainer for the Yugoslavian team called “Sloga” (sorry if I misspelled that). Apparently they won some big cup in the day. He continued on with how strong father had looked in his youth (to which I can only agree, in the seventies he looked like a character straight from a Tarrantino-movie). He then ended with speaking of his feelings. In between every speaker we had short snips of classical music played. Next up, I spoke shortly of how my father had been ill for as long as I could remember but how he despite that always greeted you with a smile. Last up was my mother, who had written a really good poem about life in general (I had no idea she was that talented with poems).
Then every one got to place a flower on the coffin and say one last goodbye. When we exited the hall a neighbour and friend of my father told me that it was a very odd funeral, but that it was all the better for it. Lastly it started to rain lightly when we exited the chapel. All these coincidences are enough to make a man religious. Father himself had chosen to be cremated and we felt that this funeral would honour his wishes. As I left the church I felt slightly relived and all the memories of a man who could make friends with anyone in 10 minutes after he met them only made me happy somehow. Is that how you’re supposed to feel after a funeral?
I’ll leave you with a picture I drew the night before he died. Next update will have some of the material I’ve been able to produce these last two months…..and maybe a little news of a certain comic.