State Funeral

 

I thought I would be more emotional during the Queen’s funeral. I was up at 2:00 a.m. to catch the start of the proceedings – mostly people arriving at the Abbey ahead of the service – and hung in there until 6:00 a.m., when the Queen’s motorcade crept out of London en route to Windsor. The procession from Westminster to Wellington Arch was gruelling – and I wasn’t even following on foot! Given the time between the funeral and the committal service, I figured I could grab a nap and be awake for the final stages at St George’s Chapel.

Nope. I slept past it; again, thank the gods for Youtube.

Ten days is a long time. At this point, I was more aggrieved for the royal family, especially the King and his siblings, for having to march in line behind the coffin once more. Of course it’s to honour their mother as much as the late monarch and I would have wanted to do the same, but oh, my, the miles they have trudged in Her Majesty’s wake. And, I dare say, at their ages. I can only imagine their relief that all is finally over. Closure has occurred, the second Elizabethan Era is ended and a new reign begins.

Shouldn’t something have changed? The world feels the same. The sun rose this morning, autumn is still scheduled for the end of this week, the war is still on in Ukraine. I imagined that her death would somehow mirror my own mother’s passing, when my surroundings took on a stunning new brilliance I hadn’t seen before. The royal Elizabeth was as important as mine, yet despite ten days of mourning, with four spent lying-in-state, now that it’s done, it’s done. There might be some global follow up in the next couple of days, but guaranteed the focus outside the UK will soon enough revert to the usual business of “suffering and greed, here today, forgot tomorrow”.

As for me, it’s back to walking my own path, being the best I can be in any given moment – but remembering Her Majesty’s example, which was really not dissimilar to what my mother taught me about treating others with kindness and respect. I’m grateful to have witnessed these massive moments in history. I have been touched through the connection that binds me to every living soul, uniting us in grief and sympathy for the loss of an exceptional person. Perhaps I can’t foresee a difference to my life in the aftermath ... yet there will be unexpected moments when I am reminded of the change in this country’s hierarchy. It may be a tiny thing, like a filing a chargeback from the King’s Printer when a month ago I was filing them from the Queen’s Printer, or something more poignant, like watching the King’s Christmas message when it used to be given by the Queen, but I will have those moments and then I’ll know.

Actually, I kind of know already. When someone passes on, whether famous or family, everything changes. We just don’t always recognize it.

With love,

A Face in the Crowd

It was recently pointed out to me that while I am the protagonist in my own story, I also play various roles in the stories of others: a supporting role with Ter, a lesser yet still supporting role with family and the workplace, the occasional walk-on in someone else’s story, and an extra in the crowd scenes.

One day I was waiting for Ter in the mall. We had agreed to meet near Starbucks after our shopping was done, so I found a spot at a counter overlooking the food court and proceeded to consider my options. Should I plug into my phone? Think about a snack? Ponder what sort of novel to get at the bookstore? Hmmmm … As I was thinking, my gaze wandered aimlessly over the scene before me and something weird occurred: a face jumped out at me.

Not a familiar face. Not a face I knew. Not an extraordinary face. Just a face, the face of a random stranger in a communal space. And as I contemplated this unknown face, other faces started popping into focus. The guy wolfing a Teen Burger by himself. The salesclerk on a break with her iPhone in hand. The elderly couple splitting a doughnut with their coffees. The gaggle of similarly clad teens trying not to stand out while preserving their individuality. The little boy trailing after his parents and older sister, looking somewhat bewildered by the hectic bustle of everyone around him.

I love to write crowd scenes and here I was, observing one. Yet I was acutely aware that within the current moment a hundred separate dramas were being enacted, each one weightier and relevant to its central character, who, like me, also happened to be a bit player in the bigger picture. And each person was powered by the same divine spark that powers me, everyone on a separate path that, by necessity, will crisscross others as it proceeds.

It was like an out-of-body experience, sitting on the sidelines yet sensing the combined energy of all those strangers. In fact, I was contributing to that combined energy through my connection to the rest of the cast! I had no idea who any of them were, but I sensed the thread that linked us. It was at once bizarre and cool—and a little disarming. I was quite relieved when Ter appeared in the tableau. Her familiarity gave me a comforting focus that shrank my expansive musing to something more manageable. All those individual faces melted back into anonymity and I became the lead in my own story once more.

The feeling has stayed with me, though I admit I rarely pay conscious attention to people on the street. But sometimes, when I least expect it, on the bus or in a lineup or even on a street corner, waiting for the light to change, I’ll meet a stranger’s eyes and feel the snap! of our shared divinity. Yup, it’s disconcerting—but it’s also a reminder that we are all connected, one and the same, no matter where our stories take us.