When I Die

Whenever I go to a funeral, I tend to think about the kind of funeral I would want when I die.  I suppose that's normal, right?  It always bothers me when it is obvious that the officiator/priest/reverend of the service never knew the deceased, especially when he says things in reference to the person that seem incongruent with that person's personality.

I think funerals should be consistent the person who is being remembered.  I think everyone who opens his mouth at a service should have known the person in life.  If the person was religious, I think the funeral could certainly be religion oriented.  But if not . . . that's when it feels. . . off.

Giancarlo and I have clarified with each other the kind of service we would each want.

First of all, cremation is a must.  Embalmbing and viewings seem so macabre.  Expensive caskets and cemetery plots are an unnecessary expense.  I'm perfectly happy being scattered somewhere, or even kept in a box on a shelf.

Second, we are not religious people, so a church again seems inconsistent.  I want to have a service in our neighborhood clubhouse.

I want someone that I know and who knows me to officiate, and I use the term "officiate" loosely because I don't want it to be a formal affair.  Maybe "emcee" would be a better word.  I would like a eulogy given, again, by someone who knows me well, and someone who has a good sense of humor.  Then, I'd like an open mic.  I'd like people who knew me to stand up and say things about me, honest things, and not necessarily all shiny and glossy and fake.  I'm not a perfect person and I don't want to be portrayed as such.  

And after all the tears and the laughter, I want upbeat music and a buffet and an open bar, and yes...dancing.  Dancing!

This week, we went to a funeral.  In explaining to work friends about whose funeral I attended, I found myself saying things like, "Well, it's the funeral of my ex-wife's ex-husband's father."   After the funeral at the get-together at the house, Amelia, Rennen, and I joked about ways to make it even more interesting.    We figured Giancarlo must be telling his coworkers things like, "I'm going to the funeral of my same-gender husband's ex-wife's ex-husband's father's funeral."

I know that at the loss of a loved one, one may not feel like joking.  I've also learned that the only way to deal with the overwhelming sorrow is to have moments of equally intense levity.