Skip to main content

Modern Funerals And The Lost Art Of Avoidance

 I hate funerals.

Of course there is nothing to love about them, although I remember a couple of English War Bride Aunts who enjoyed them as a social event. They showed up everywhere, for the show, the chinwag, and probably the free lunch.

Myself, I avoid the services at all costs. There are, of course, reasons to go, and funerals that can't be avoided. The last two I attended were non-religious events, that served beer. How could I refuse. And of course there are family events that one is obligated to attend, even if it's to quickly sign the register, and then hide in the basement, as far away from the proceedings as possible.

I have been a pall bearer twice. They were amongst the most uncomfortable times in my life. I have also ushered a few times. I sucked at it. How could I ever recommend a good seat when my body and soul wants to crawl into my church basement hidey hole.

Part of my avoidance of funerals is something I have mentioned to people in person and on social media before. I have never minded the sour looks and expressions of disbelief after my statement because what I  have stated is the truth.

"In my life I have mourned dogs who have left more than most people."

Please understand that I said most people.

 

We recently had a family tragedy. My cousins four year old Grand Daughter was killed in the stupidest accident any one could imagine. (I won't go on about this, but be advised that despite my funeral hating hard heart, the loss of a child breaks me down to an oozing pile of mush)

This would have been a funeral I would have been obligated to attend if it was local, but because it was in Ontario chances of me going were nil to nil. I was off the hook. Or so I Thought. Modern technology reared its ugly head when another cousin texted me.

"I'm sending you the link so you can watch the funeral. It's very long."

Thanks. (Sarcasm)

 

That was two days ago. I have yet to look the video, though I know I should watch at least part of it so that when she asks me if  I watched it, and she will, I won't have to tell her a total lie.

"Yes. Sad. Really sad." 

Only a part lie. 

 I know that when I watch in the privacy of home I will see a family and their friends and loved ones living through shock and heartbreak. A lost child. Jeezus! I can't imagine. 

I will be a puddle for sure. Maybe my feelings are not as iron coated tough as I pretend that they are, but at least in the privacy of home nobody will know. Except the dogs. They know everything.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

SERMON FROM THE DECK (The Christmas Story Version)

 Santa answered my call last night. It took a while to get past his tough receptionist, but eventually the big guy came on the line, I believe to placate and get rid of me.  We talked about memories of Christmas past. He reminded me that I asked for the Coleco Electric Football and that it wasn't his fault that it sucked. "You were supposed to be able to program the players by adjusting the fins on the bottom, but they just ran around in circles. And the kickers, the kickers, they both were broken by the second day."  He told me that he hoped my greed begat a lesson that was taught with crappy, broken things.   I reminded him that there has been no action on my later requests. World peace. Eliminated famine. Brotherhood and sisterhood. The age of Aquarius fulfilled.  He drew a deep breath, sighed a huge sigh, and then admitted that the power to have these oh so precious gifts does not come from a magical, imaginary elf in red, but is inside every one of us, jus...
Post a Comment
Read more

March Crush

 You are a 15 year old male. Your hormones are raging, surging, "turn me loose!" Your only outlet is frustration. "I bet you're still a virgin!" "No I'm not." "When? Who" You make up a lie that flatters no one.     A Goddess lives three doors down. A woman who fills your dreams with scenes of life and lust that you have only experienced in crumpled, hidden magazines. She is recently divorced. With children at home, except on weekends when they are housed at their fathers, two towns away. You notice she returns your glance before you can turn your embarrassed stare away. She gives you a sly smile. "Oh God, she knows." One day, at a gathering at the school, she comes up to you.   "You are sure growing. I could use such a strong man to plow my driveway." What does she mean by that? Could she be coming on to me? "Yes Ma'am. I'm available tomorrow after supper." You know tomorrow is Friday, and that her ki...
Post a Comment
Read more

Sunday Morning Ramblings (A Sermon From The Deck Story)

 OH MY A FIRE TRUCK!    I lived in the city so I know how sirens become background noise to life, and are easy to ignore. Out here in the country sirens are the cause of excitement, curiosity and fear.   This mornings siren, around 7:30, drifted into the house as a shock. "Honey, is that your phone?" "What?" "The siren. Is that on your phone?" "Not me!" I looked through the bedroom window and through the trees caught flashing lights heading north." "I better check this out."  Check it out because I worry. You worry. We all worry.  I threw on a pair of sweats and a hoodie, grabbed my keys and jumped in my truck. What I worry most of all this time of year are grass fires. A fast melt, and stiff breezes have dried ditches up to tinderbox status in places. I have a hard time understanding why anyone still smokes, but what really pisses me off is when they flick their butts out the window. (Cigarette butt. I should re-word the previous ...
Post a Comment
Read more