Death is never convenient. Neither for the one who has just died, for no doubt they were looking forward to a holiday, a pint in the pub, the embrace of their loved one, the birth of a child, or just getting home to bed, nor for those close to the departed. Funerals always seem to occur just when you're having your busiest ever time at work, or about to fly off on the trip you've saved for all year.
Death is never neat and tidy. I have a terror of dying in public, with the shame of losing control of my bodily functions in front of a crowd of strangers on the train. And as for that famous extract from a book that people always pass on to you when you lose someone... You know the one I mean. It tells you that the dead one hasn't vanished but has just gone into another room. Huh! What it fails to mention is that they're not ever going to bloody come back! So much for comfortable cliches.
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