There we were, early morning January 26th, standing in front of our sons cot; looking down on him. Pat's mam had lit his baptismal candle and the windows were open to keep the room cool. It all seemed surreal. It could not possibly be true.
After a while, we went back downstairs, had some tea and asked Pat's folk to stay over. Exhausted, we all went back upstairs and to bed. En route to bed, Pat and I went back into our sons room and recited "Me and My Dad", one of Patrick's favourite stories that we have come to know off by heart. Then we said good night and went to bed. Sleep took a long time to come that night and the next morning we got up, sat down in the kitchen, looked at Pat's parents and asked: "What happens now?"
I am familiar with the Irish way of funerals and straight off, the whole process is so much kinder and more humane than the German way which can be cold and anonymous. For one, you'd never get to take your child home with you like this! While I could not have predicted how I would feel about this in terms of my own child, I must say it does help tremendously. You get to say a proper good bye. Still, we had never been in the position of having to organise a funeral ourselves...and I hope we won't have to do that again for a very long time.
Pat's parents were just fantastic during the next days (and weeks and months). They stayed with us, helped arrange everything for the funeral and just knew what to do. They gave us the plot they had purchased for themselves (I think) in the local graveeyard that also Pat's grandparents are buried in. Extended family and friends just dropped everything to be by our side. The house was bustling with people coming in to make tea, food and/or themselves useful in some way.
There was a general feeling of shock and disbelief at what happened but people were tremendously kind and helpful at this time.
With the help of Pat's dad we got everything arranged. The undertaker was brilliant: Helping when needed and blending into the background when he felt he wasn't. It was suggested to do the wake at the house; have Patrick in his cot downstairs and that is what we went with.
Luckily, the priest we are friendly with and who was supposed to be traveling to the US for several months, happened to be around that week. Being the one who baptised Patrick, we would not have wanted anyone else to do him the honour of saying his funeral mass. It was him and another priest we have known for years who said the Mass together.
The service was beautiful and everyone at the church was both crying and smiling at a little piece myself and Pat had put together about Patrick; who he was, what he was like, that he loved his creche and his grandparents both in Germany and Ireland.
I was amazed at the amount of people coming to the wake and again the funeral the next day.And yet more people were waiting at the grave side. Hundreds it seemed. Again, this does not happen in Germany but it really does help in the grieving process.
While people here had no problems taking time off work for this (a very good friend who had just started a new job got told to leave and do what she had to when she told them about our boy dying), my niece from Germany got told by a secretary that a cousin was not close enough a relation to be missing University over! Thankfully her professor was quite alright with her coming over to attend the funeral but I sometimes do wish I could have a word with that secretary!
We traveled to the church and from the church to the graveyard in the back of our own car, with Patrick's little white coffin on our laps. The local people in Pat's parish had turned out in force to help with the digging of the grave which is something that is still done by the family and neighbours and friends out there. I think the count was 18 people. Friends of Pat's parents had the grave beautifully lined with moss and flowers and things and one of the guys, was said to have been itching to head to the grave ahead of us all after mass to make sure everything was still looking proper and well.
Patrick had been a huge part of our circle of friends and his death left a massive hole in their lives too. They all came to say good bye and take part in the mass in whichever way they could, between singing and readings and more.
This kind of help, community spirit, friendship and just being there for people in this situation really moved me beyond words. I will be eternally grateful to all those who helped and were there for us and who continue to be there for us.
Even though our GP's gave us meds to help us through this time if needed, neither of us took them. I am not sure where we found it, but we had the strength. I later sometimes wondered if there was something wrong with me that I did not break down more or lose the plot altogether - but I am coming to learn that this was my heart/mind and body's way of dealing with this - and that was OK.
I am not sure these are the right words to use but all in all we did give our son a most wonderful send-off. Never in our dreams or worst nightmares would we have imaged to have to do that but once in that awful situation, it all came together beautifully for him. We were not able to save him from dying - so this was as much as we owed him; at least.
