Certificates are normally associated with the good things in life, achievements in particular.
Our youngest son received his first Honour Certificate at school just 5 weeks ago, he stood proudly holding it up for the entire school to see. The smile on his face was priceless, as parents we were 'chuffed'.
Four weeks ago the same son received a certificate at Auskick, he couldn't wait to bring it in to show his Dad who lay in bed, struggling to get a breath. Charlie ran to the bed, climbed up on the chair and held it up for his Dad to look at. His Dad couldn't see it, he was not able to communicate in any way at that time, not even a squeeze of the hand. I told Charlie to tell Dad about it anyway, because he could hear him even if he couldn't answer him.
Three weeks ago I placed a "hole in one" certificate amongst other memorabilia displayed for Greg's memorial service.
For the last two weeks I have been told that I need to provide a copy of the death certificate before I can update/amend records from his name to my name. Each day I have dreaded going to the letter box for fear that it would be waiting for me. The envelope with the certificate that I never wanted to see.
Today I found out I have to 'apply' for the death certificate. I have to go in and hand over money and a completed application form so that they can give me a 'certificate' to confirm that the love of my life is dead. (I had wrongly assumed that when the death was registered that a certificate was issued automatically).
Tomorrow, somehow, I will hope for the strength to ask for and receive 'a certificate'.