True Grit

The last couple of weeks have been rather hard, I have to say. My mother's death was so sudden, and such a shock, that I probably haven't really come to terms with it yet. Any of you who has lost someone special will know exactly how I feel. There's a strange dichotomy of emotions in the few days immediately following such an event. As well as dealing with the disbelief and the grief, there are also the many practical matters that need to be handled, and these present us with an odd, but perhaps welcome, distraction.

Amongst the many tasks that I had agreed to take on was to write a eulogy for my mother's funeral. The writing bit wasn't so hard – there was plenty that I wanted to say about my mother and of course, with a subject so close to my heart, it was easy to inject it with a depth of feeling not often so readily available to a writer. In the end, it seemed to write itself.

What seemed to be a more difficult obstacle was the prospect of reading the eulogy to the assembled congregation on the afternoon of the funeral itself. I rehearsed it several times in front of my daughter Imogen, and each time I failed to get through it without stumbling on the words, and breaking down in tears. Perhaps I had put too many personal memories into it; perhaps I was exposing myself too much? I became seriously concerned that when the time came, faced with my mother's coffin, and the no doubt tearful faces of my immediate family, I simply wouldn't have the composure to get the words out.

I knew that I couldn't let my dear old father down, nor indeed the remainder of my family, so I made a decision to treat the reading as a performance. I'm well-used to reading in public, so that part didn't worry me, but I needed to remove myself from the emotion and to imagine that I was reading someone else's words – for the sake of my mother. As the first hymn came to a close – and I knew that I was on next – my heart was sinking and I was astonished with myself for ever agreeing to do this. So, when I took the podium to begin the eulogy I had no idea what was going to happen next.

I took a very, very deep breath and lifted my head to face the congregation and as I did, an immense feeling of calm and strength came over me. I looked at my notes – which suddenly appeared to contain nothing but sentimental drivel – and began.

I'm happy to say that it became the performance of my life – everything came together and I delivered a lasting, loving, and much-appreciated tribute to my dear old mummy. Yes, there were a few faltering moments when I almost lost my nerve and when the tears almost threatened to overwhelm me, but I pressed on. I know now that everyone in the congregation was rooting for me and this must have given me the strength to deliver those words with the love and care that I did. I didn't let her down, and I hope that she would have been proud of me. I am (though I say it myself).

Even my Great Aunt Dolores might, for once, have curbed her usual disappointment in me. I'd like to think so.