Tea time
I take my tea the same way every time
Whenever I take notes before a funeral
Just black tea, without milk or sugar
Because I am a consummate professional
And I want to make as little fuss as possible
To be present, hold something warm
Because this is not easy, nobody said it would be
I take my tea the same way every time
Whenever I take notes before a funeral
Just black, without milk or sugar
Not even a slice of lemon
Because I chose this profession
But you didn’t choose when your loved one died
And the fact that you are sitting opposite me means you’re already having one of the worst days of your life
So I won’t cause you any trouble, I promise
I take my tea the same way every time
Just black, without milk or sugar
And I let the cup sit, without sipping it, until I am confident it is cool enough
Because hearing the story of someone’s life cannot be rushed, and you need to know I will not hurry you
We will sit here for as long as it takes for you to pour out your heart
And to move slightly further on in this process of grief
Long enough for you to able to talk about your loved one in the past tense, at least for a few sentences
As long as it takes for you to get out some of the hurt and share it with me
Because I am a consummate professional
I take my tea the same way every time
Just black, no milk or sugar
Because death cannot be sweetened or watered down
It is a bitter fact, like the dregs in a drunk mug
Or the sepia smears that stay on porcelain no matter how often you wash it
I chose to answer this calling
To sit with the grieving and honour the dead
To make this feel meaningful
Because death is painful, but it is also supposed to be sacred
That is my job: to help you find solace in tragedy
And I am a consummate professional
I take my tea the same way every time
Black, no milk, no sugar
Normally, I leave the bag in until the hot water looks and tastes like a tar pit
Hard to drink the dregs, but I do
But today is different
The bag has been removed too soon
I didn’t get the chance to let it steep
And neither did you
You never had time to find out who your little boy would be
He just didn’t sit in these waters of life long enough
Taken out and drained before he got the chance
Still somehow leaving a stain on the stoneware, so dark it can never be erased
I take my tea black
And I am supposed to be a consummate professional
But something has gone all wrong with this brew
Nothing about it feels right
Death is painful, but it is not supposed to hurt you like this
This is not the natural order of things
And I’m pouring in salt water from the corners of my eyes
And I’m stirring it into the weak warm waters
And it tastes now too bitter to drink
And I fear I cannot swallow this
But I chose to bury the dead
And you did not choose when your baby died
