8.00 am: A communion. While waiting for the remnant of postgraduate monitoring forms to find their way to me, I completed administration that would accompany them up the food chain:

This was the day of Phoebe’s funeral. Attendance was by invitation only. I’d be present in my capacity as a friend, tutor, and representative of the School of Art. I ‘penned’ a few lines (below) – ideas for which came to me in the middle of a restless night – in order lay down a final memorial to her. Although I suspect she’ll be invoked in the pages this diary for sometime to come.

11.30 pm: I was prevented from returning to my research by further bits of admin that flew about me like budgerigars let lose from their cage. In any case, I wasn’t in the frame of mind for launching into something significant and focussed. Today, I was impatient with trivia, gripers, and ‘fantasy admin’ (being the ‘stuff’ produced that no one really reads or remembers). A confrontation with death encourages us to put things into perspective.

12.30 pm: To the local crematorium to say goodbye to Phoebe:

Phoebe had needed to let go of her life. Now we’re trying to let her go, but with great difficulty. Into the gap between those two realities we’ve poured much of our grief. Understandably. Gradually, the gap will narrow as we develop a more settled view of the last few weeks, and see them as but one part (a very important part) of the whole sweep of her life. Eventually, the recollection of sadness will take its place alongside the remembrance of joyful, fulfilling, and more hopeful times. Those two realities may never be fully reconciled. Why should they be? But we’ll be better able to bear the space in between.

I vividly recall a tutorial that I’d held with Phoebe this time last year, to help prepare her for admission into the School of Art. I introduced a new drawing project. She sat with her hands clenched into fists upon her knees, with eyes squinting and brow furrowed, appearing utterly perplexed by the task I’d proposed. Then, the penny dropped. Phoebe stood up in an instant; her countenanced was transformed into one of joyous rapture; and she exclaimed: ‘Yes! Let’s get on with it, then.’

I suspect that if she could advise us today, she’d repeat the same determination: ‘Get on with it, then!’ In other words, don’t linger here. Love life without restraint, squeeze the juice out of every moment, and be grateful for the health and days that you’ve been given under heaven.

After the service, we were invited to light refreshments (although I ate enough to give the lie to that description) at Nanteos Mansion, Rhydyfelin:

It was helpful to talk to her family, and hear about Phoebe’s childhood exploits and eccentricities. Talking about a departed loved one maintains their on-going influence upon our lives. The reception provided a memorable, honest, and touchingly human encounter with people – representing the varied dimensions of her life and experience – many of whom I’d never before met and may never see again.

After I’d eaten my fill and chatted to those on my table, her mum took me upstairs to the Music Room, which had been context for many of Phoebe’s musical triumphs. The Mansion was criss-crossed with corridors, passageways, staircases, and suites (some reputedly haunted). The building provided spaces where attendees could retreat from the party and lose themselves, in order to commune with their heart and thoughts in solitude.