Friday, April 1, 2011

It's so hard to say good-bye...

We went to my brother-in-law’s funeral today. It’s more proof that life is simply not fair – the nicest guy in the world, in his 40s, losing a seven-month battle to lung cancer. Oddly enough, this was only the fifth funeral I can remember attending.

The first was my aunt’s mother-in-law’s funeral. I was mad, I didn’t want to be there, but my mom reminded me that it’s what we do for family. My aunt is my mom’s best friend, and, later in life this lesson made more sense to me, so as much as I was bored as any 16-year-old could be at a funeral for a person she’d rarely interacted with, I’m grateful.

The second one I remember was for a professor. Yes, I went to a professor’s funeral. (Come on, I named my kid after a high school teacher, are you really surprised by this? Though, this professor was my only journalism professor to give me less than an A, you’d think I’d hold a grudge since she stopped me from having a 4.0 in my major.) But Maria was a fascinating person, very blunt and honest, and very good at what she did. She was my reporting professor. I loved reporting. She succumbed to colon cancer, and what’s worse is she fought it for years. It went into remission, then came back. She was prepared, she planned her entire funeral, right down to the songs they sang. It was all her.

The third funeral I remember was my brother’s. This was a strange one. The situation, the person we were burying, the fact we knew the funeral home director (she used to be our next-door neighbor), the timing … nothing was right about this. (Then again, is burying someone you love ever right?) My pastor came to the funeral home with us, but we ended up not having a pastor to perform the service for Michael, because my pastor had plans for Thanksgiving, and we told him it was not necessary to cancel his plans for this. What we ended up doing was having a low-key service, in which we all took turns talking about him, and playing some Ozzy music. I kid you not. It was nice. One could say he was sold short because he didn’t get a “real” funeral. Then again, he wouldn’t want all that pomp and circumstance, and we tried our best to do what he would have wanted.

The fourth funeral was my dad’s. This was so strange for me, but for completely different reasons than why Michael’s was strange. It was the first open casket I had ever been to, and the smirk the mortician had on his face was so him – you really thought he was about to pop out of that casket to yell, “Gotcha, just wanted to see how many people would show up!” It was weird because I wasn’t really sad, at least not over the loss. I was more sad because my step-sister’s kid looks at me with the saddest eyes and goes, “I miss Ralph.” That’s sweet kid, because he sure as hell didn’t have any interest in having a relationship with me – at least he had one with you.

No, the strangest part was the service itself. One, my dad was a Mason, so they had that weird Mason thing going on. They are kind of freaky. I can’t even begin to describe the strangeness that entails. The Masons have a bad reputation, I don’t really know enough to say if it’s justified or not. But their funeral ritual is strange. The second part was the fact the pastor knew nothing about my dad. So he went around to everyone asking for a story or a memory about him, and HE READ THEM OFF THE PAPER! I mean, I know it’s a common practice (more about my thoughts on this in a second), but come on, integrate them. Don’t make it so obvious you don’t know anything about this person.

Now, Tony’s funeral was very nice. It was another open-casket (well, it was beforehand, it was closed before the service started), and we had the typical music, “Amazing Grace” and “I’ll Fly Away.” The pastor of the church my sister attends performed the service, and although Tony didn’t go often, at least the pastor knew him a little bit so his service wasn’t completely antiseptic and generic. But it was to a point, he did reference a lot of other people’s memories. Of course, the one thing that made me cry was when the pastor read what my sister wrote about Tony verbatim. This heart of stone cracked. I know, it’s hard. (Side note, the only wedding I have ever been to that brought a tear to my eye was Lynda and Tony’s. I have no idea why.)

What’s my point here? Well, you’ve got a mixture of different services, traditions, etc. Everyone’s view of a funeral is different. But after we got in the car, I looked at Scott and said, “I’m just saying this right now, I want ‘Amazing Grace’ from the ‘Maverick’ soundtrack.”

Really, though, if I had to plan my own funeral, I don’t want a funeral. I don’t want people to be sad. And I sure as hell don’t want an open casket. In fact, I want to be cremated, so perish the thought. I sure as hell don’t want some random guy who does not know me getting stories from my family trying to convince the living I lived a good life and was a good person. They can do that themselves. Skip that. Just have everyone sit down, play some good music I loved (because, if there’s one thing, we all know I love music), drink some good French wine (come on, I’m saving you a lot of money, spring for the good stuff, okay?) and have everyone share memories. Preferably good ones, but, I’m gone, what do I care? Take the time to celebrate my life and the lasting impression I had on the world rather than mourning the fact I am gone.

So, what are your thoughts? Let’s play the morbid game – what do you want at your funeral?

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