Mary breathed her last breath, whisperingly, at mid-afternoon. The big hand was on the nine and the little hand was between the three and the four. Her lungs had operated efficiently for most of her 85 years. Only the care assistant, with a mask across her face, noticed the stillness of her body. Loved ones had not been allowed to hold her hand, give her a hug or whisper final words of love into her ear because of an official Government ruling. The dying were clearly to be treated as dead bodies in advance of their actual death.
You were, however, allowed to wave outside of a closed window. Mary’s emaciated body was taken to the chapel of rest. It was collected a few hours later for discreet disposal by understanding undertakers. They prepared Mary’s body for burning. For statistical purposes, the cause of death was probably Coronavirus related, albeit Mary was never tested. Only 5 members of Mary’s close family were allowed to be at the crematorium where they were spaced a couple of metres apart. Two of Mary’s known favourite hymns were played but not sung; All Things Bright and Beautiful and Morning has Broken. The vicar wasn’t from the town and hadn’t known Mary.
The short service was soon over. In gaseous form, Mary later rose above the surrounding treetops, whilst her ashes were buried in the churchyard. The gases dissipated into the Earth’s atmosphere. The Earth continued to spin with the other planets of the Milky Way, along with billions of stars in other far away galaxies. Mary, as we knew her form, is nowhere now. She touched so many lives. Yet, mention her name and she is straightway present through the spiritual power of love. It’s just that we can’t touch her anymore and that is so sad.
Grenville Gilbert lives in Ottery St Mary (Coleridge’s birth place) and is involved in the church activities there, including a recent reading and recording of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.