I went to a funeral yesterday. It was for a young woman called Jacky Clark, she was just 26.
Considering all the news we get about memorials on Clift Crescent, or Canberra Avenue, or the Woden Bus Interchange I think it worth noting the tragic passing of a young person that didn’t require police action on their memorial.
I never got the chance to know her in life. But her husband had asked that a group I’m in attend, so I was there.
Rows of plastic butterflies had been strung from the ceiling of the chapel, which was full to overflowing.
The speakers tried to celebrate her life, but it was desperately sad for having ended so soon.
Having been to the funeral I really wish I’d had the chance to get to know her in life.
Afterwards the butterflies were taken down and everyone was asked to take one home.
I’ve chosen to take my butterfly and put it on my fridge. (My fridge, not anyone else’s)
Every time I see it I’ll remember that Jacky Clark once walked amongst us, and was very much loved by a very great number of people.
I would humbly like to suggest that this is a better form of memorial than a scrawl on the door of the toilet in the Woden Bus Interchange.