It was a long, lonely journey, but not as lonely as the crematorium – surrounded by people she’d never met, hearing stories that pointed to a Samantha she’d never known.
“Hi. You’re one of… Sam’s friends?”
“From college.” She smiled as politely as she could to the man who’d approached her, registered the flecks of grey in his balding hair and the bags under his eyes. A hint of Sam, in his face.
“You’re Lucy?”
“That’s me. You are..?”
“Darren. Sam’s dad. We’ve been trying to find people… in the ceremony, to stand up and say a few words. About their best memories of Sam, what they remember of her as a person, what they’d say to her if she were still here, whatever. Just… make this less a funeral, more a celebration of her life.”
There were so many things Lucy could say to that, answers she’d learnt from Tim. What a funeral was, the importance of mourning… should she speak? Would it help, did she have anything much to say, could she follow the brief? She looked around. She knew a side to Sam they didn’t, a side that mattered just as much… and maybe, if she could find the right words, she could talk about grief too? She wished Tim was there, so she could ask him. But he wasn't, and she had to do this alone.
“We were going to email, but we wanted it to be… more genuine. Off-the-cuff. You don’t have to, if you don’t want to, but it’d be really nice, as someone outside the family, who knew her… recently.”
“Sure. I can say a bit, I guess.” Should she ask, whether she could talk about God? But she was a priest, Sam was a priest. She could hardly speak without including God. She found a piece of paper in her bag, a hymn list from Sunday, and jotted down notes on the back. Happy memories? She’d do her best, though it felt unnatural, though her strongest memories of time with Sam was anything but happy. Off-the-cuff? Um, she could do off-the-cuff, but only if she had no choice. Knowing a few minutes before the service? That gave her a choice.
Darren was back. “So… there aren’t many speaking, just members of the family, then one of her friends from school, and one from her first degree. Would you mind going last? Just, so it’s in chronological order of when we knew her. We’ll start, Laura over there,” he gestured, “will be just before you. Is that okay? Just… a few words.”
“Of course.” This was what the training was for, wasn’t it? Supporting people, in times like this, through your own emotions? And speaking, when nobody knew what to say…
The coffin was carried in, and silently she mouthed the opening sentences she would normally speak at this point. Eyes on the wooden box, and on the flowers on top, trying her best to be open minded. The civil celebrant began to speak, and a single tear slipped from the corner of her eye. This service wasn't for her, though, she had to remember that.
“Thank you all for coming, to celebrate the life of Samantha, who was sadly taken from us too soon. It’s good to be able to gather together, family and friends, to share memories, to celebrate those wonderful memories we have of her, and to say a kind of goodbye. She went through a lot, but we’re here to think about the happy times, to remember the joy she brought into each of our lives. We’re going to read some poems and quotes which remind us of her, and hear some of her favourite music, and people who knew her at different points in her life will share their fondest memories, and perhaps share the last words they’d like to say to her. And finally, you’ll each find a paper heart tucked into your programme… at the end, we can each write something on that heart – a memory, a message to Sam – and place it on the wire tree beside the coffin. Now, we’re going to hear a song Sam used to listen to…”
Lucy’d taken a lot of funerals, all kinds of funerals – well, all kinds of Church of England funerals. And sometimes, yes, the liturgy could feel restrictive, but… at least it kept order. Gave a framework which didn’t depend on the tattered emotions of the relatives organising. At least, as minister, she could hold it all together. That was what Tim had said to her, before her first funeral, and now she understood what he'd meant.
“Well, as many of you know, I’m Darren, Sam’s dad. And, well, what can I say about Samantha? I remember holding her in hospital, as a baby, just how proud I felt then. Her first word was an approximation of “Rover”, the name of our dog at the time – much less political than either mama or dada would have been! She was…” he dashed away a tear, impatiently, “a stubborn child, always knew her own mind. Something which held on as she grew older. Very quiet, very self-assured…”
How hard, to listen to these, accounts of a childhood not so long ago. Accounts tailing off, as Sam drifted away. No mention of vocation, of ordination, of God – except by a university friend, who’d seen her for the last time at ordination, and remarked that she’d seemed happy. Why had Lucy agreed to say anything? Why not just sit back, and let them do their thing? She hadn’t come to shake things, just to mourn Sam herself. To find out a bit more about her. To say goodbye… though perhaps she could have done that better alone.
She stood up slowly, made her way to the front. Lord, may the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight. Give me the words to say.
“You… probably don’t know me. Deaths are strange, the way that saying goodbye can bring people together. I’m Lucy, I… was a friend of Sam’s. I’m a priest, as she was, and we met at college, where we were in a tutor group together.” There, at the back of the room, two familiar faces. Luke and Martha, from that same tutor group. At least two people who she wouldn’t mortally offended by nature of who she was.
“We’ve heard people talking about Samantha’s life, from when she was a baby, through school and then through university. In chronological order. Now, I’m last in that line, because I knew her at the end – though of course like all of us, I had no idea it would be the end. Like I said, I trained with Samantha, and I would have to agree with previous accounts. She was self-assured but very private. She had her opinions, and was very happy challenging her teachers when she disagreed. She was confident in her beliefs, and brilliant in her studies, the one to whom we went for help – particularly in Hebrew, which she seemed to find easy. I remember many long evenings sat on her floor, as she attempted to explain to us the different meanings of a particularly awkward word.
“And then, of course, we left. We were ordained in the same service, the only two from our tutor group to be together – the others scattered around the country – and there we parted ways, off to face the challenges of curacy. I didn’t really hear from her again until last Christmas and… I’ve shared my happiest memories, but now I guess I should talk about those last months, because just as there was a beginning, there was an end, and in many ways it's then that I came to know Samantha best.”
She licked her lips, avoided the eyes of the relatives. She'd committed now. “Samantha was in my house for about two months, following the events at Christmas, while she worked out what to do next. It was a difficult time, but she came a long way. We had many conversations during that period, and I came to know her in a way that I hadn’t before. I got to see her doubt, but also her unshakeable faith. I got to see the human fragility beneath that layer of self-assurance. I got to see her regrets, and the longing for forgiveness – which, in the end, she found. And I got to see the anxiety and despair which, while not a happy image, were nevertheless a part of Samantha – a part, which makes up a whole. I had the privilege of getting to see that whole, even the parts of herself she was so good at hiding."
A surge of emotion forced a lump into her throat, and she struggled to swallow past it, and to think enough to find words. “Samantha... loved God, and she loved the Church – that’s why she was a priest. One of the hardest things for her was to lose her ministry - although she admitted openly, later, that it was a fair decision. She was that brave, to have that honesty – with herself, with me, with a small number of others – that she had made a mistake and was sorry for it. The tragedy is that the situation spiralled out of control, and ended in a way none of us could have foreseen and which she didn't deserve, where she couldn't see any other way out. Every one of us here knows that it happened, and to behave as if it were natural causes which took her from us at the age of thirty-one is to turn her from the real person of Samantha Karner into… someone else.
“Those last months were tough, and devastating. She may have made some bad decisions, but she suffered for them far more than she deserved. She fought with herself for a long time, trying to find the strength to keep living, to convince herself that there was a reason for her to stay alive, and in the end she couldn't. Losing her hurts, for all of us. It hurts because she was so dearly loved, and all that love wasn't enough. She was failed by a cruel and unforgiving society, as so many are, and maybe her death will do some good in laying bare a system where one moment of poor judgement is enough to drive someone to death." Lucy swallowed again. "And perhaps, although I know that we all have different beliefs, it’ll free us up to hope in the future that she hoped to find: in life after death, in hope and happiness which weren’t available to her here.”
She looked up at last, not at the relatives – she didn’t quite dare – but at the various friends seated at the back. A sea of bright colour, so wrong for the occasion. She’d played along as much as she could bear, worn purple – colour, but funeral colour. There were balloons by the door, in primary colours, and the orders of service – “programs” - were decorated with pink flowers. Tim would never have let any of it near a funeral in one of his churches, unless maybe the deceased was a child. Luke met her eyes and nodded, very slightly. Lucy took out a tissue and wiped her face. “What would I say to Sam, if I could say one thing? I can’t, of course, and if I could, I’d say… I hope you’re somewhere better now, somewhere you can rest, and feel welcome. I'm sorry you couldn't feel how much people love you, how much we'd all miss you. I’m sorry that I didn’t help you more, when you were here. And I hope… I hope you’ll forgive that, when I see you again.”
She returned to her place almost robotically and sat down, shoved the scrap of paper into her pocket and hugged her arms round her chest. Swallowed hard, feeling the lump move in her throat. If you could have seen all this, Samantha, all the pain you’d cause, if you'd had any idea how much you'd be missed, would you still have done it? But it wasn’t a big congregation, really, not for someone of Samantha’s age, for this kind of death.
And the last balloon caught the breeze and bobbed up, over and away, following the rest, distant specks of colour in a grey-filled sky.
“Dad told you, didn't he? Today's about celebrating her. But you couldn’t let us have that, could you? Taking her away wasn’t enough…”
Lucy blinked upwards at the young man towering over her.
“Why’d you come, if you couldn’t say anything nice? Just because she broke some made-up rules, from your fucking made-up God… you don’t think your lot did enough?”
“Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met…”
“Larry. Her damn brother. Who actually fucking knew her.”
Who evidently hadn’t known Sam. “She believed it too. It was important to her.”
“…like you’re proud of it, how you managed to get under her skin… and look where she ended up!”
“Her faith brought her joy. It’s not simple, trying to claim it is…”
“Don’t lecture me on my own sister. Not happy with killing her…”
De-escalate, de-escalate… she was still wondering how when the fist took her in the face.
Cold ache. Numbness. Check her teeth with her tongue… nothing moving, all still there, though she’d bitten the inside of her cheek. Salty blood. Look up, slowly, see the crowd gathered in stunned silence, staring.
Larry's face was red, his stance defensive as if expecting her to take a swing back at him. “Go on. Fuck off back to church. Go guilt someone else, leave us alone, let us remember our Sam in peace…”
She explored with her hand the part of her face his fist had struck. Don’t argue. Don’t run. Turn… the other cheek. And she did, just a little, angle it towards him, though every instinct told her not to.
“I’m sorry you feel that way. As I said, I think we both knew very different sides to Samantha, but they were both very much her. I’m sorry for what you and the family are going through.”
“Like you knew her at all. You stole her from us, you changed her, you…”
“Larry.” An older woman, by his shoulder, nervously tugging him back. “Stop it, Larry, don't... she's just trying to help..."
He shook her off, impatiently, making her stumble as he took another step forwards to stand inches in front of Lucy. "What? Not got an answer?"
"I know it's hard, losing someone you love, especially like this..."
"Fuck off." Spittle flecked her face. "I know it's hard. You don't have a clue how fucking hard it is, or you'd have left us alone, wouldn't be here preaching about bloody forgiveness like it's not your fault. You made her give up everything and convinced her she was a terrible person and even now you can't fucking leave her alone, you've got to come and gloat, make sure you did the job right. Not happy until we're all as miserable as you. We’ve had enough of that God bullshit here, you're not going to convert any of us, we don't need imaginary friends making us feel guilty, and after Sam I don't know why you'd think we would."
"Leave her alone, Larry, Sam wouldn't want... I’m so sorry… Lucy… I’m so sorry…”
“We don’t need to apologise to her. But then… what can I expect… you supporting that nonsense, her own mother, look where it ended…”
“Mrs Karner, I’m very sorry, I didn’t mean to cause upset.”
“No, no… it was good to hear… that other side of her. That other people miss her too.”
“Like hell they do.”
“Larry…” a weak protest, as she was pushed off and Larry squared in on Lucy again, his voice seeming to fade into the distance as a strange peace had settled over her, as she looked up at him and smiled sadly.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break in where I wasn’t welcome. I’m sorry for what you’re going through right now.”
“Just. Fuck. Off.”
“Larry!”
She turned away, a silent prayer in her head. God, give them peace, help them to rebuild. And the fist took the other side of her face, making her stumble and slip to the ground. People were shouting, her ears were ringing, and when her vision cleared enough to look up she could see Darren trying to get between them and several people clinging to Larry's arms.
And there were hands under her shoulders, hoisting her up, steering her away. Luke’s face swam in and out of focus, as the crowd parted to let them through. Through to the car park, where a hedge shielded them from view, and she was let down to sit on a low wall. A damp tissue, dabbing ineffectively at the corner of her mouth, only making it sting more. One of her eyes was swelling already, hard to open from the second blow. It took a minute to focus the other.
“Luke, Martha. I was hoping we could catch up…” The words felt thick in her mouth, and she wasn't sure how intelligible they were.
“Wow, Lucy, you’re a brave woman.”
She started to laugh and then winced. “Brave or stupid?”
“You spoke well.”
Her vision was still swimming. “Not what they wanted. Should have… held my tongue.”
“Just ‘cause Larry didn’t like it doesn’t mean others aren’t grateful. I know… I know I am.”
“The three of us… don’t really fit in. Not... about us.”
“Anyway, you didn’t deserve any of that.”
“Grief…” The last of the adrenaline drained away, and another wave of pain slammed into her, so that she fought down the urge to be sick.
“Sorry we didn’t defend you, we just… didn’t really know what was going on. Didn’t think quick enough.”
She grimaced. “Better… not to… escalate." What was she going to say to Tim? "You… got a drink?”
“Um…” Martha rummaging through her bag. “In the car, maybe? I can get one?”
“If… it’s okay but…” Her mouth still tasted of blood.
“Are you okay? I’ll be back… just a sec…” She legged it out of Lucy’s limited plane of vision.
“You’re okay? You need to lie down?” Luke was still here, hand on her back to support her.
“I’m… I’m fine… just a bit… dizzy." The world swam again. "Be fine… in a minute…” She groaned. “Should have just… done their thing… not my place…”
“Stop talking a minute. Martha’s coming back…”
A bottle, pressed up against her lips, a dribble of water coming out, as much going down her chin as in her mouth. She concentrated on drinking, on the relief of feeling the blood bathed away. And then Martha damping her scarf, folding it into a pad and pressing it against Lucy’s eye, making her gasp and wince.
“Sorry…”
“No. It’s just… ow.”
“Ibuprofen?" Martha popped a couple of tablets into her hand and gave them to Lucy. "You’ll have quite a black eye. Need a good story for the parishioners…”
And Tim, because she'd hardly be able to hide it from him.
“Graveside brawl isn’t enough? I mean…”
“No grave.”
“Yeah.”
Martha took the scarf away a second to inspect the bruising, then applied it again. “How’re you getting home?”
“Driving.”
“Thought you might be. I’d give you a lift but… car.”
“Yeah. Gonna wait 'til I'm… less dizzy.”
“You need to go to hospital, get checked out?”
“Nah, it's fine. Teeth are all still here.”
“I was thinking more of the dizziness.”
“Yeah. It’ll be fine, just… half an hour.”
“You an old hand at this?”
“No.”
“Good, I was going to say…” Martha shook her head. “Anything planned for this afternoon?”
“Tim… gave me the day off.”
“Well that’s something. Think we should call him anyway? Before he sees you tomorrow?”
“Wait until I’m safely home.”
“You’re not afraid he’ll be straight round on your doorstep?”
“Lucy?”
Luke and Martha looked round instantly, Lucy more gingerly. The same woman who’d tried to stop Larry at first.
“Are you… okay? I’m really sorry…”
“I get it. Grief is… difficult. I shouldn’t have… said anything.”
“No, I wanted to say... thank you." She shuffled her feet, seemingly unwilling to meet Lucy's eyes. "We were all thinking it. So many… rumours. It’s hopeless, trying to pretend to be happy. All very empty. If… maybe in a few weeks, or months, at some point – if you wouldn’t mind – it’d be really nice, only if you wanted to, to... like, talk. Find out… all that stuff… you were there for, that we missed. What really happened. Though if you never want to see us again, after this…”
“No, of course I will. If you want. If it won't upset people.”
“Larry won’t be around. Just for… some of the others. They wanted to talk to you.”
“I’d love to stay, but I don’t think it would be wise.”
“He doesn’t seem to understand that all the priest stuff… was her choice. None of us believe, but it made her happy. That's why it’s really so sad… what happened later…”
“It’s hard to understand, from outside. I’m happy to talk to you, to anyone, about the Sam I knew.” She hesitated. “You had… a note?”
“Yeah. Which… that… that archbishop, she sent to us, after…”
Lucy reached out a tentative hand. “She told me about it. Not much, just that… she said Sam was in a good place with God, much better than she had been. We’d been working together, to try to help her. Hopefully done some good. I’d… could I read it? Some time? Only if you don’t mind…”
“Of… of course. Yeah. It was… she talked about God a lot. Larry hated it. And the rest of us… it’s weird, there’s a lot doesn’t really… make sense to us. But it’s clear… it was that medical bill, whatever Larry says. But then there’s a lot we didn’t know. We didn’t know… she’d tried… before.”
Lucy squeezed her hand. “I’ll tell you… everything. Another time.”
“Of course. I’m… I’m sorry. About Larry. Are you alright?”
She grimaced. “Well, it hurts. But I’ll be fine. He’s just… upset. I’m sorry things had to be spoiled like this.”
“It was never going to be a good day.”
“No.”
She sighed. “We decided not to do a religious service, after everything, and to keep Larry from snapping, but… it’s a bit of a shame. Christians are better at talking about death. There’s just… so much missing.”
Luke nodded, joining the conversation. “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for you are with me, your rod and your staff they comfort me. That’s what you want, at a funeral?”
She nodded. “You’re all… ministers?”
“We all trained together, with Samantha, yes.”
“Oh, you must all think it’s so silly, we just didn’t really... know much of that side of her. She was so… private.”
“She never talked much about her life before, either. So yeah, I think she was just… a very private person.”
“Well, thank you… for coming. Even though… you didn’t know any of us.”
“Thank you for extending the invitation. For letting us mourn with you.” Martha smiled up from where she was seated beside Lucy. “You should get back, really.”
Lucy looked up. “Let me know when you… want to talk.”
“We’ll get Lucy home safely. You go and… well, all the best. If it’s any use at all, know that you’re in our prayers. You and all of your family.”
She looked at the three of them uncertainly. “Thank you. I don’t know how we’re going to cope now but… I guess… we’ll have to do it.”
“It’s definitely hard, but you’ll find a way. In the end.” Martha smiled kindly, adding the final words. Samantha’s mother nodded gratefully and retreated, a frail waddle beyond her years, back around the hedge.
Martha watched her go and then turned back to Lucy. “Right, how are you..?" She shook her head. "Stupid question, you're a mess. Luke, can you go see if the crem staff have an ice pack..?"