I’m off to a funeral today. Not-fun. And even less-fun for the family involved of course.

The funeral is for the father of a childhood friend of my brother’s. My brother isn’t able to attend so I thought I’d go (with my mother). I spent much of my childhood traipsing about the countryside with my brother and his basketballing friends so it feels the thing to do.

Even worse, the friend in question also lost his wife just a few weeks ago.  So much sadness in such a short space of time.

It’s the first funeral I’ve been to since my dad’s, so I’m a little worried about my own reaction. I know that sounds like I’m making it about me (and maybe I am) but I can’t help but feel it’s wrong to be mourning / celebrating someone’s life, while thinking about someone else. (A bit like thinking about someone else while having sex. Which is APPARENTLY not the done thing!)

The funeral’s also taking place on a poignant day for my family.

Twelve years ago today my father received a heart transplant.

I’ve written about it before – in 2009, 2010 and 2011, so there’s no need to rehash it all again.

Except to say, unless you’re thinking of being cryogenically frozen (which I am), then please consider organ donation, which can offer the gift of life to many others.