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Weird Funeral Experiences

I read a lot of different blogs and read random things that I find on the internet – WordPress helps by giving me suggestions for blogs that have similar themes ore that are comparable to ones I’ve favorited.

dead dead, mostly dead ...probably

dead dead, mostly dead …probably

I read this blog piece the other day and commented on it:

The Wednesday Question: What was the Weirdest Experience you  had at at Funeral

I commented and talked about Mother’s funeral when the minister was going on and on about life after death and Christ being reborn. He started to shout a question:

“Will Cheryl live again?! Will She LIVE AGAIN!?” he shouted

a very little girl, maybe 3 or 4 screamed back

“NOOOOOOOO!”

and you could see she was very upset about the whole situation

I chuckled, I chuckled and chuckled some more… people glared at me but it was funny.

Funerals are odd things, we stand around talk, cry and sing about people that were in our lives but I wonder how much time we spend letting those people know how much they meant to us. I try to tell people all the time how much they mean to me – unless I think they’re a tool or worse and then most of the time I at least try to be polite to them -sometimes that is beyond my reach, but I try.

I wasn’t particularly fond of my mother most of the time and she had been a hypochondriac most of her life and a few times a year I’d get a call: “Mom’s dying you have to come home” and it would be her being a crazy in the psych ward again – she was born in the psych ward and probably just felt most comfortable there. She died a long time before her body finally gave out, I think she was happy to go – her face looked pretty pissed actually when we saw her before the cremation, but I think she finally got what she wanted.

Funerals are odd things, we stand around talk, cry and sing about people that were in our lives but I wonder how much time we spend letting those people know how much they meant to us. I try to tell people all the time how much they mean to me – unless I think they’re a tool or worse and then most of the time I at least try to be polite to them -sometimes that is beyond my reach, but I try.

My current barber is named Boris, he’s handsome – straight as an arrow, which is sad but I like that he’s handsome, keeps me going to see him. He has a wife and 5 kids, his most recent are girl twins – just 5 months old. Boris is jewish (he always is wearing one of those funny hats), born and raised in NYC but moved to Arizona in the last year – he’s a spectacular barber, his brother works there too but I don’t think he does as good a job. Now some of you stopped here and said “You pay a barber for your hair cut? I could do that myself.” Well yes, but as I said he’s cute… and getting my hair did is relaxing, I love it and it’s a special treat. Boris’s mother passed away, I offered my condolences, I talk to my barber (especially if they are cute). Boris and his family are traveling to – I’ll probably get this wrong – Jerusalem to bury his mother or pay respects or something. He tried to explain to me that they have to do this within a certain amount of days for some reason. He’s flying over there and wont even be a week – he says, you do what you have to do for family and it’s not about enjoyment or what’s comfortable.

When my biological father passed away I was 20, I hadn’t really ever known the man – as I’ve said before he got me drunk on black berry brandy and Schlitz a few times and once offered to get me a hooker to take my virginity. All class. My fathers friends and family got drunk, for a week we got drunk, I think I was drunk at the actual service and I know several of his friends were – that’s what I remember of his funeral. I met several people in my family but they weren’t people I knew or ever saw again, but they kept saying how much I looked like him. They showed me photos of him in high school and he reminded me of Bruce Willis in his prime, he was the football star. I never did see those folks again that I can recall – but I think that’s ok.

When my foster father died… that made me stop here. It’s been almost 5 years and the thought of him gone still makes me stop. 😦 When Pa died the funeral wasn’t a bunch of drunks and it wasn’t a bunch of religious yammering, it was a sense of loss of someone that we were truly going to miss. People told stories about him, stories about the stupid things he had done – like filling an old warehouse full of lawnmowers – stories about the times he would lend a hand to someone just because. I spent that time reflecting about how much he did for me and how many things he did that I took for granted – he hugged me each time I was there to visit, and when I would leave. He made me laugh, he’d engage me in conversation. I’m all kind of teary eyed right now…

I guess death and funerals are different depending on how you felt about the person. I don’t know… I hope my funeral is a fun event, maybe a karaoke machine, lots of jello and male strippers (bears and cubs OH MY). Yeah, I think that’s how I’d like to be remembered.

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