I sometimes laugh when I think about funerals. The dusty blue suits, the how-much-are-we-allowed-to-smile-to-each-others, the flowers none of us want to buy, the time restrictions on crematorium usage before a cheap curtain closes in front of a life we’ve not finished telling everything to because a family (and another and another and another) are waiting to go next. I went for a run last week and a hearse was on the road. I laughed at myself when I realised I had stopped still on the path, put my feet next to each other, bowed my head and thought about every goodbye I’ve never properly said. I laughed.

Carl Burkitt 2024