Restrictions on funerals are cruel and unnecessary

As we buried my beloved cousin Frances last week, her devastated family were faced with horrifying choices because Government guidelines still allow just ten people into a church

HAVE you ever stood watching your mother cry while being unable to do anything to help? Ever seen your cousins – your friends since birth – stand heartbroken without being able to offer them any comfort?

Ever seen your aunt and uncle go through the worst heartbreak any parent will ever suffer and not be in a position to simply put your arms around them?

This is the reality of a funeral in Ireland right now. And it’s horrific.

My beautiful cousin Frances died last week from complications during what was considered a fairly routine operation. The sudden and unexpected nature of her death was difficult enough. What followed was beyond what any of us had imagined.

An old boss once said to me, ‘How many cousins do you actually have?’ – because he’d heard me mention having a cousin who could source/fix/deliver something, anything, so many times. It made me laugh, because there are quite a few of us, but we’re also very close.

On my mam’s side, I have 24 cousins. Most of us live in Dublin or close by so we see each other on a fairly regular basis.

We’ve been each other’s bridesmaids, godparents to each other’s children, and some of us are closer than many siblings.

Frances was one of the older cousins in the family, and was the life and soul of everything she did.

I’ve never smoked and I’ve never regretted that more than when we’d be at a party that she was also attending, as she’d spend most of the night out in the smoking area entertaining anyone who’d listen with her stories.

PEOPLE would come back into the room in hysterics and try to tell you what she’d been saying, but it wasn’t the same. You had to hear it from her.

But apart from her wit, she was kind. She was generous. She was hard-working. She was always there for anyone who needed her.

She was admitted to hospital last Saturday week with stomach pains, diagnosed with a bowel issue, and during the operation to resolve it, she had a stroke and never regained consciousness. She was just 52.

Shockwaves went through our family as we got the calls and the news spread.

As thoughts turned to her funeral, we all knew there would only be ten people allowed into the church. But it wasn’t going to stop us going along to support the family. Our family.

We decided we’d line the entrance to the church, keeping socially distanced as much as possible.

There were maybe 40 people on the road up to the church, and the first thing I noticed was my aunt and uncle, Frances’s parents, being dropped off at the gates. It hadn’t occurred to me until then that funeral cars are banned right now as they would involve mixing households.

As the rest of her family – her husband, daughter, son, four brothers, two sisters and a rake of in-laws, nephews and nieces – arrived in dribs and drabs, we all waved at each other and tried to convey as much as possible the anguish we were feeling for them. But nothing does that quite like a hug.

The moment that broke me was my poor uncle looking over at my mam and their other sister, all three of them crying uncontrollably as they struggled to comprehend the loss. None of them was able to give the others any kind of physical comfort.

At least two of his sisters were able to make it this far. Another sister is in Spain, while one brother is in London, and another brother and sister have health complications that mean they can’t leave their homes for fear of contracting Covid-19. A family kept apart in their hour of need by this awful virus. We thought this was bad. Worse was to come.

As the coffin arrived up the street, Frances’s four brothers gathered to carry it into the church. They were followed by her husband, her daughter, her son, her parents and her two sisters, before a lady standing at the door of the church indicated that they wouldn’t all be allowed in. I watched in shock as I realised one of these people — her immediate family — was not going into the church. For a moment it even looked like her son might have to watch his mother’s funeral on a phone screen.

Just let that sink in for a minute. Someone who’d just lost his mother suddenly and unexpectedly, with no preparation of any sort, was not going to attend her funeral.

Thankfully some kind of sense won out and the 11 of them were allowed in. If the guidelines had been strictly adhered to — and I understand that in many parishes, they are — I’ve no idea how they would have decided who would stay outside. How do you even begin that conversation?

If it wasn’t her son, it would have been her mam, her dad, her husband, her daughter, a brother or a sister. That’s a call that should never have to be made, a cruel sacrifice forced on an alreadydistraught family member.

A sacrifice that I also think is an unnecessary one. The very next day, I stood in a queue outside my local Dunnes Stores and thought: how can all these people be allowed in here?

Just three days later, I saw the videos of the queues outside the likes of B&Q, Woodie’s and Homebase.

I understand that shopping is essential, but so too is people being able to attend their beloved’s funeral.

What is the Government thinking behind limiting funerals to just ten people? Surely something as simple as cordoning off certain rows in the church could be done. You could have four rows taped off between each accessible row, easily keeping a two-metre gap between