You can't bottle that

I was at the a funeral yesterday of Edie Dunning, a wonderful lady, who has left us aged 87 to join her heavenly father and husband George. Her surviving son, Ron, paid tribute to her and the Vicar related the tale of how Edie and George met by chance in Walpole Park, Ealing, in 1944. They courted for a year before marrying and were together for 51 years.

A sad day but wonderful to celebrate Edie's life - one of selfless service to her husband, son and a faithful friend - Edie had met every Thursday afternoon with Joyce for the last 15 years.

My friend, Ron, has been a wonderful support for his Mum, giving up his job in the autumn to care for her while she was poorly. Edie died in peace having, I understand, said all she wanted to Ron and vice versa.

Death is draining - seeing Ron's pain and that of Edie's nephew and friends. I returned home at 4pm and, still suited, with coat and gloves on, lay on the sofa and slept for an hour.

Yet, I am grateful for the Christian hope, indeed certainty, of reconciliation in the 'afterlife'.

Ron spoke of his inner peace countless times yesterday. You can't bottle that. You can't buy it. All you need is a mustard seed.