As the car came to a halt, the lovely funeral director turned to face us in the back of the car, Jason to the right and I was at the left, Thomas' little white coffin lay peacefully on the seat between us. The white of the coffin was pure, almost innocent, not a single mark existed on it, it was in perfect condition. The bright yellow daffodils adorning the top, reflected so many moments that we had shared with him through his life, they brought a sense of hope, they matched the sunshine that hovered in the beautifully blue sky above us, and they replicated the lightness and joy he had brought into our family. The metal plaque on the top of the coffin had the engraved words "Thomas Samuel Cotton", the name of our son. There was no denying why we were there.
"Take your time" she said. "We will wait by your doors, but we will not open them until you give us a nod. There is no hurry, everyone will wait for you, only come when you are ready." She made sure that we understood and she and the driver silently got out. Jason and I looked at each other over the coffin. Neither of us spoke, but our looks told each other that we were thinking the same. We don't want to be here. We shouldn't be here. We were broken once again. But we loved each other. We loved Thomas, and if this was to be the last thing we could do for him, then we would manage it, together, as we had done on numerous occasions over the previous couple of months. I know that we didn't feel "ready" when we gave the signal, but we were putting off the inevitable and consequently drawing out the anguish and pain we were feeling.
As I stepped out of the car, I caught my first glimpse of the congregation waiting for us in the gathering hall. There was a sea of people, many of whom had turned to watch our arrival, perhaps to try to make eye-contact, to give us a bow of support and acknowledgement, to share some of our pain. I knew that I wouldn't be able to cope with that just yet, so keeping my eyes low, I made my way round to the far side of the car where Jason was taking hold of the coffin. It was so tiny, it was the size of our baby, fitting in the cradle of Jason's arms just as Thomas had done a couple of weeks earlier. Holy moly, could this just be an awful nightmare and I would wake any moment to find Thomas contentedly asleep next to me in his moses basket once again? How could I wake myself to make this all end?
As Jason led the way into the gathering hall and down the aisle with the little white coffin and its daffodils, I followed behind, not letting myself focus on anyone or anything. All I needed to do was put one foot in front of the other and to try to maintain my composure. This itself, proved an incredibly difficult thing to do. The last time I had walked down an aisle at the centre of attention was on one of the best days of my life, at my wedding, and now, here I was, on one of the worst days of my life, under such contrasting circumstances. The sea of people felt familiar, and the love we instantly felt was tremendous, but the atmosphere was something else entirely.
As a hush fell in the hall, through the air drifted the gentle sound of "Sheep May Safely Graze" and down my cheeks fell my tears. Once again, I found myself unable to stop them from falling. The few pairs of eyes that I did fall upon as we progressed up the aisle were not only sharing our pain, our grief but our love as well. A sense of solidarity came over me. Not one single person in the room wanted to be there either.
In that little white box, carried so courageously by Jason, was not only our beautiful baby Thomas, but also brother Thomas, grandson Thomas, nephew Thomas, cousin Thomas, and friend Thomas. He had clearly touched so many lives during his all-too-short life, and every single person in that room had, in some way, become better off in their own lives because they knew him, even though many had not had the chance to meet him. But also, in that little white box, was not only our beautiful baby Thomas, but our little toddler who would need pushing on his bike, our four year old who would be starting school with his older siblings, our teenager who would still need a mummy-hug after a tough day at school, our sixteen year old trying to figure out what he wanted to do with his life, and our man who fell in love. My future, our future, about to go up in flames.
We finally reached the front of the assembly, where the sun-bathed woodland stretched out through the vast glass wall, and Jason placed Thomas on his pedestal. As I sat down at the front, I took a deep breath. We had made it to our seats, but still had so much more to bare ahead of us. For that moment though, this was Thomas' moment. This was his time to soak up the love and to demonstrate his full glory. I wanted to share that with him, by his side, as I had done, and still do, with my other children. He shouldn't have been stuck out in front, segregated from the congregation. He shouldn't have been hidden in a little white box. He shouldn't have been at his funeral.
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