Iris

The church pews heave with mourners dressed in black. Our family, friends, neighbours; everyone who loved you. As our son begins his eulogy, telling the story of your life, the church begins to spin on its axis. Without you, I feel so precarious, so frail. I clutch onto the pew in front, resting my eyes on the bouquet atop your coffin. Pastel pink chrysanthemums, white lilies, pale blue forget-me-nots. Sunlight streams in through the stained-glass windows, filling the sanctuary with light.

It was sunny the day we met, do you remember? A bright blue sky over Hampstead Heath, the first sign of spring after a long winter. Your friend introduced us but you were far more interested in the crocuses. After inspecting the delicate purple flowers for quite some time, you finally turned to me. How brave it is, you said, to be the first to bloom.

On our first date, we went stargazing on Primrose Hill. Through your telescope, you were showing me the stars, from Orion’s belt to the North Star. It was a cold night and we sat underneath a blanket, sipping hot tea from a thermos. You were arguing with me about God. How can you think that all of this, you said, gesturing excitedly towards the sky, that all these marvels are a coincidence?

I didn’t have an answer for you, I was too busy wondering how someone like you, who knew all about stars and flowers and the meaning of the universe, would be interested in someone like me. I thought I must be dreaming.

After the birth of our son, as we stepped out of the hospital for the first time, there was a dazzling sunset, bright orange with streaks of pink. There is magic all around us, you said with a tired smile, just look at our son. Over the course of our life together, you found so many moments of magic. On holiday in Greece, when we looked out at the golden sand and the brilliant blue water and were sure that we’d somehow ended up in paradise. Years later, when we returned to the city, older and slower by that point, our joints heaving with every step. We stopped to look out at the river, mesmerised by the lights. The blues, purples and yellows, bright and enticing amidst the backdrop of the night’s sky and the sliver of light from the crescent moon. You slipped your hand in mine and gave me that knowing smile.

The organ roars back into life, jolting me from the past. As the congregation sing the final hymn, I see the pallbearers begin to gather. Tall men with solemn faces, preparing themselves to carry you away. The trip to the cemetery is a blur. Our son squeezes my hand as the world flashes by. Before I can gather my thoughts, the priest is speaking again, reading a prayer as they lower your coffin into the ground. He sprinkles soil onto your coffin as he reads - earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. I decline the offer to take a handful. I know it was your belief my love, but it was never mine.

I am handed the bouquet. I run my fingers over the soft petals before tugging one of the chrysanthemums free to tuck it into my shirt pocket, to rest by my heart. The crowd has begun to disperse, making their way to the wake. Our son and his wife wait by the oak tree, their hands clasped together, silent in grief, strengthened by love.

They will soon welcome their first child, our first grandchild. I know how much you wanted to meet her. I’ll tell her all about you. How you saw the beauty and the vivid colours in the world, with eyes so much brighter and kinder than mine. In the first throes of spring I will show her the crocuses and point out shooting stars and remind her that there is magic to be found if you choose to believe. They are going to call her after you. Iris. The Greek goddess of the rainbow. The connection between heaven and earth.