Grief is the price we pay for love
What the Queen’s death can teach us about mourning and loss
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone. Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone
Those words from Funeral Blues by W H Auden, made all the more popular in the 1994 film Four Weddings And A Funeral, capture so well the emotions of those of us who have been bereaved. A feeling that the world needs to stop turning in order to allow us to catch our breath. Because even when a death is unsurprising – as is sadly is the case for a 96-year-old – it is still a shock. When that moment finally comes, the cry we feel in our heart is – “No wait…Stop…Come back there’s so much more I need to say.” Death, even expected death, goes to the very core of our humanity.
As the fears concerning the Queen’s state of health emerged on September 8, there were rumours of broadcast staff hurriedly changing into dark suits. I used to work in radio and know that pinned up in every newsroom is the protocol for the death of a senior Royal – solemn music interspersed with formal announcements, all other news suspended. The announcement when it came was stark and superceded not only all other news but all programming on the BBC. Landmarks like the London Eye went dark overnight.
Today, on the day after her death, gun salutes and church bells will ring out across Britain. Planned strikes have been called off. Sporting events and the Last Night of the Proms have been cancelled. The Royal Family, if seen in public at all, will wear black. The United Kingdom as a whole is embarking on a 10-day period of mourning. Around the world, tributes are being paid. The Eiffel Tower in Paris went dark last night and in a moving mark of respect President Biden - someone who knows more than most about the processes of grief - has ordered that flags will be flown at half-mast across the United States until the funeral.
For most of us, this marking of the death of a woman we have likely never met is probably our only experience of formal mourning – not of loss, we all experience that – but of behaving for a short period in a way that acknowledges the enormity of what has happened - of stopping the clocks. In our work-a-day world, jobs have to be done, children and the elderly cared for – and, increasingly, there is a delay of several weeks before a funeral can be held. The Victorians were masters of mourning and the practice has come to be seen as something relating to the past, not relevant now. Yet it is a deeply human need and the bedrock of many cultures and faiths. The Jewish custom of sitting shiva for seven days springs to mind - but all religions have something similar.
It is ancient wisdom that we need this space to allow our minds to adjust to the enormity of what has been lost. For all but the closest to the deceased, the funeral – or other ceremony – marks the end to the period of mourning. Life can resume, the clocks can start ticking again, the telephone can ring, the dog can be allowed to bark. For the nearest and dearest, there is a long hard road ahead – but to have company of others in taking those first few steps, in the early days, can help set us off on the best path.
God bless you Ma’am and thank you for everything – in life and in death.
Lindsay you never fail me with your very poignant words no matter what emotions we are feeling. Thank you for this piece and all the others through the years
Alison Thurston
My Nana (who died in 1986) adored The Queen and it's brought back so many memories of her that I'd forgotten i.e. lovely kid leather gloves, a hat and always the rigid handbag. Thanks Lindsay xx