The beginning of November brings forth All Souls’ Day, a day when prayer is used to help cleanse the souls of people who have recently passed away, that they might enter heaven.
So yesterday evening we went to Church. The Blokey’s family are not religious by any stretch of the imagination. Indeed, The Blokey couldn’t remember the last time he stepped into a church [ignoring the Mormon church we went to for the wedding of the NotSoUglyStepSister]. My MiL has no faith to speak off, but the moment the letter inviting her to the All Souls’ service at the local Anglican Church popped through the letterbox she so very desperately wanted to go.
Which is why she insisted on discharging herself from hospital on Friday afternoon.
They never did find out exactly what was wrong with her, although they could tell her that another day without treatment and her kidney’s could have suffered irreversible damage. Apart from having swollen ankles, incredibly dry skin and a passion for eating [it’s the tablets apparently!], she seems to be nearly back to normal. She didn’t smoke for five days; it would have been the perfect opportunity to give up. Did she? Pffft. She’s a stubborn old goat when she wants to be.
But I digress.
The church service was nice. The parish church in The Blokey’s childhood village is small and charming, in need of repair, but so much more quirky and beautiful for that. My grandad popped into my head at the beginning of the service and he stayed with me throughout, which was comforting. As the vicar reads out the names of the local parishioners who’ve passed over it almost shoves into your face how cruel Death is, how he has no thought for those who are left behind. My BiL did the whole candle thing, and a butterfly fluttered amongst the rafters.
I wondered who the butterfly was, or had been.
I think my MiL found great comfort from attending the service. The mum of some famous chap off the tellybox was there too, because her husband died this past year. The famous chap wasn’t there though, and even if he had been it would have been wrong of me to stare and then demand his autograph. And I’m mystified by an older couple who were there, a couple whom I recognised but can’t place. Isn’t that so irksome?
please God bless my weary feet xxx Elsabeth