Uncle Tom's Funeral

Uncle Tom’s funeral is right now as I start this – 1.30pm UK time, 8.30pm South Korea Time. I’m sitting here playing old 50s and 60s songs in his honour. I’d like to be able to say I’m really enjoying it, you know, like one of those funky funerals where everyone has a party and no one is upset because of what a great guy he was. And he was. Tom was a great fella, I loved him to bits, he was funny, and genuine. You can’t buy genuine, not like Tom’s. His heart was on his sleeve. He would well up at movies or some poignant moment on the TV say, or would laugh out loud at things, and speak his mind. He had no inhibitors, and I don’t mean that he was mouthy, because he wasn’t, what I mean is that he had that rare gift of actually being able to verbalise what he was thinking, almost straight away, like all the best comedians, and actors, can. This of course made him tremendously funny – I’ve said it before and I’m saying it now, he was one of the funniest people you would ever have met.

But I’m not here enjoying myself, I’m upset, and I know those that are attending the funeral right now will be inconsolable too.

I couldn’t go to the funeral today, and I genuinely regret that. I'm in South Korea, and I was actually on a school trip to LotteWorld, which is a theme Park in the middle of Seoul. I couldn’t believe it. One of the most emotional days I’ve felt for years, and I’m flying around on roller coasters. It was actually good fun, and it took my mind of Tom for a bit. (Photos when I’ve cheered up).

We are a small family, set within a bigger family. I’m much closer to my mum’s side of the family, and she only had one sister, Marilyn, and Tom was her husband. They had three kids and my parents had three kids, all roughly the same age (the first five born in ’66, ’67, ’68, ’69, and ’70!) and we all grew up together. I’ve known every one of them, and them me, since age dot, and Tom was the first one of this very tight knit little group to go, in a very long time.

The whole landscape of ‘family’ has changed now for me. I know that when I go to, say, a christening or something like that, there’ll be no Tom – someone I would never feel awkward around because I’d known him forever. Someone whose table I would sit at. At Christmas, or someone’s 40th, or 30th or whatever, there won’t be a Tom there, and it just won’t be the same, and not only because of the minus one, but because he was such a giant of a man, and such a funny one. God I’ll miss him. To know I’ll never hear that voice again, or laugh at one of his jokes (witticisms really, he didn’t tell jokes), or just spend any time with that lovely man is absolutely heartbreaking for me, and many other people too.

It’s horrible when someone you love dies. It hasn’t happened to me for a very long time, and in that respect I guess I’m lucky.

Thanks for the memories. Thanks for the smiles and laughs. Wish I could hug you one last time.

See you Uncle Tom,

Polo.