The Perfect Funeral

I don't mean to sound morbid in this post, but I've been thinking about what I want when I die. We went to Mark's Grandfather's funeral yesterday, and it was the best one I have ever been to! I know that sounds strange, but I usually dread the big, quiet, crowded room, the long, drawn out sermon (especially when the preacher is a stranger), and above all, I hate the varied and excruciating ways to make you cry.

Every funeral begins the same way for us. We all dress up in uncomfortable, but "appropriate" clothes, even though Jonathan is usually toted off by a friend or family member. I apply "church make-up" to go with the clothes even though I know I will cry and turn myself into a make-up mess (I own water-proof mascara exactly for this). We walk in and stand around in the family area until we are seated; this is really horrible for family, I think, because we are paraded past all the other people to sit in the front of the church as a kind of showcase of tears and drippy noses. Then come the songs, all lullaby or dirge-like hymns, often about heaven or death. Then, when your Kleenex is sopping wet, they bring up the preacher, who seems to love having a captive audience in the middle of the week and drones on and on, or a eulogist, or, in the worst cases, a line of eulogists who give sad remembrances over and over and over. Finally, just when you are breathing a sigh of relief that it is nearly over, they open the casket (which is right in front of the family section) and the rest of the people line up to file past you, the family, and the open casket. The family goes very last, then they load everyone up, and go to the grave site. Here, there is standing room only, the preacher gets another sermon in, and just when you have resigned yourself to it never being over, it is. Everyone mills around for a few minutes, then leaves. It feels lonely and strange standing there. This is the point when the part of me that is so glad that it's all over is warring with the part of me that feels sad, and guilty for feeling glad it's over. Somewhere during the course of all this there is usually a family lunch provided by someones church. Lunch usually consists of congealed ham, piles of green beans, and cold, store-bought dinner rolls. It's weird that every church who feeds mourning families seems to have the same bad cooks.

Anyway, the whole process is emotionally and physically exhausting, not to mention leaves you hungry and uncomfortable, and in need of a good face washing. So, yesterday was wonderful by comparison. We did dress up a bit, but it was supposed to be casual, and when we got there the whole funeral home was full of family and friends, talking, looking at pictures, and just hanging out. Jonathan got to stay, because there was no quiet anything in sit-still pews, he ran around, ate candy and entertained everyone with his ABC's and his funny phobia of his 10 month old cousin. There was a slide show playing on a loop in one room, it showed pictures from his life and pictures of his family growing up. The casket was open and surrounded by flowers in a viewing room, so you could go in quietly, and by yourself. I didn't see a single tear. After the viewing party, a small group of family went to the grave site where a close family friend and preacher said a brief word and had a prayer. The rest of the afternoon was spent at grandma's house eating all the food people had brought (it was really good food and there was way too much for one old lady).

It was perfect, it was not depressing, tear-jerking, or guilt-inducing. If I live to be a retired grandma, that is exactly the funeral I want. Why not the funeral for a young death? Because a young death is sad no matter how you look at it. Leaving behind children, close friends, and business friends, leaves so many different people who knew you, but didn't know each other, I don't think being forced to mingle with strangers would be as comforting. Besides, I think this really would only work as a small thing, family and close friends. Still, this, and then cremation is my choice for an end to my life on this earth.

Funerals

Mark's Grandpa Brazel died this morning. He's been really sick for a long time, and I think we are all a little bit relieved that he has finally passed. I know it kind of sounds awful to say, but if you have ever watched someone you love wither away in pain for years you will understand what I mean.

When I was born (as one of the oldest grandchildren and great-grandchildren on both sides) I had both parents, all four grandparents (healthy too), all four great-grandmothers, a great-grandfather (one passed a few months before I was born), and a great-great-grandmother! When I was still pretty young I lost a pair of great-grandparents and my great-great grandmother, but the rest were active in my life until I was in High School, when I lost 2 great grandmothers. In the past few years I have lost a grandparent nearly every year, and Mark has too. I am so familiar with going to funerals, it's almost routine, I go to a funeral more often than I have doctor or dentist visits combined!

Jonathan has 2 parents, all 4 grandparents, 3 great-grandfathers, and 2 great-grandmothers and that's it. He's only 2, but in his short life he has lost 2 great-grandfathers, 2 great-grandmothers, and a great-great grandmother.

I know that a lot of kids don't have hardly any family, and we are really blessed, but it still makes me sad how many wonderful people my son won't get to meet, and grow up loving. Nanny, Jonathan's great-great grandmother died in October, she loved pink, taught me how to crochet, and made raggedy Ann dolls for years. She made Jonathan a hand-stitched baby quilt when he was born. My Granddaddy (Jonathan's Great-grandfather) loved to rebuild model A Fords and work in his yard, he was a woodworker too. He had a devilish sense of humor, and taught me how to swim and dive. Mark's Grandma was a strong Christian who loved her family above everything and spoke her mind, she was sincere and good-hearted. Mark's grandpa who died today is the reason Mark's mother's family became Christians. He's isn't related to us by blood, but he brought Mark's grandfather to Christ when Mark's mom was still a little girl, so he is part of the family. And the loss that still hurts the most, is my Mima, who died a year ago yesterday. There are no words that can say how much I miss her and wish she could be here with us as Jonathan grows up. Every time we loose someone it brings up the hurt of loosing all the others.

I hate funerals.