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New Grey Hairs And Funeral Clothes

 "The last time I saw you you didn't have grey hair."

As much as that statement kicked my ass, only fools argue with the blatant truth.


I dressed nice.

The minute I walked into the venue I regretted it.

"I hope it's a quick service. I'm going to melt."

I didn't melt, but my deodorant failed.

It was 95 degrees F. in the shade.  It was dead still and stifling hot in the packed auditorium.  My jacket came off before I was seated. I would have taken off my pants but for funeral decorum.


I dress nice out of respect. I will not wear a tie, but in my suit, shirt and hat I do look mighty fine.  I have never embarrassed myself  because of the way I dress up.  Except perhaps I did yesterday.

When did it become standard practice to slob it down for funerals? Shorts? T-shirts? "Do you own a razor, there Chumley?"

As I walked into the 100 degree venue a random T-shirt commented with sarcasm,  "you look good."

I wanted to tell him to piss off and take a shower but there were a few elderly ladies in the area who would not have appreciated my venom, so I replied,

"Overdressed and under qualified, The story of my life."

I bit my tongue so hard I needed stitches.


Being tall gives me the opportunity to rubberneck the funeral crowd during standing hymns, prayers, and silent moments.

What I have noticed recently is that I'm not the only one who's hair has turned grey "since the last time I saw you."

I won't say that the passage of time is the great enemy.  It's the natural driver, start to finish, for those lucky enough to get this far.

What is the great enemy is confusion. Seeing faces you should know, but can't quite place. Wrinkled, grey, "look at the eyes", and coming away with no idea.

Covid changed the way I socialized.

And a person needs to be with people to be unaware of the changes.

When you are away from people reality can be shocking.

For all parties involved,

"Your hair wasn't grey last time I saw you."

Welcome to your life.

All of us.



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