once upon a casket...

I just got back from the funeral of my husband's great aunt. At least I think she was his great aunt; she could have been his 2nd cousin, once removed, or something like that. I've always been a little vague on the exact relationship. I didn't ever get to know her, but her husband is a gem, so it was a no brainer that we'd be going to this funeral. Turns out she was a gem, too, so I'm glad we went.

I have a love/hate relationship with funerals. Well wait, I don't think I could ever say that I love funerals, so saying I have a necessary-part-of-the-process/hate relationship with funerals would be more accurate. Actually, I really don't mind funerals themselves, they're just incredibly emotionally draining, what with all the fantastic memories and funny stories, combined with that ache of knowing it's going to be a long ride till you get to see that person again. What I'm really opposed to is the viewing.

Now, I know, psychologists and funeral directors alike would tell me the viewing is a necessary part of the grieving process. People need closure. They need to see the deceased, to help in coming to terms with the death. Blah. All I know is that I really don't want everyone's last memory of me to be lying in a coffin, all waxy looking, with everyone who files by saying things like, "She looks so peaceful," (Hello, dead, how else would you look?) or "Oh, she looks beautiful." Baloney. You and I both know I've already looked WAY better than I'll look in my coffin, so let's remember me that way. Shut the lid and fill the room with pictures of me where I looked fantastic. Then people can say, "Oh, she looks so happy," and you could totally agree with them: "Are you kidding? She was beyond happy, that picture was taken right after Thanksgiving Dinner, 2009. ...Good food..."

Come to think of it, I've just found a flaw in my great picture plan. I'm usually the one taking pictures. I'm in about 2% of the pictures taken at our house, and half of those are the family pictures we take where no one looks good, so we send out a goofy one of all of us. (We didn't even bother last Christmas, despite the fact that I went to the bother of ordering them and everything. I just couldn't bring myself to send out a picture that included our dogs in it. ...Maybe I'll work up the guts by July, and send them out then. I think they even say, "Merry Christmas, 2009." I like it. Watch your mailbox.) Anyhoo, the other 1% of pictures of me are "self-portraits," where I've held out the camera at arm's length and taken a blurred, over-exposed, or goofy-expressioned picture of myself. Looks like everyone's last memory of me will be horrible either way.

Funerals always get me thinking about my own funeral (and viewing, but I won't get into that again), and what kinds of things will be said of me ("Man, that girl could talk." "I'd never heard anyone actually use 'blah blah blah' in a sentence until I met her." "Sad, really. She never really learned to appreciate Johnny Cash..." -- that'll be Dave).

I also wander in my mind to other funerals I've been to, remembering the funniest parts of each. My grandma's funeral (my dad's mom) is probably my favorite up to this point, for two reasons: I had been asked to accompany all of the grandkids in a musical number. This, of course, required a quick run-through before the funeral. My sister contributed a lovely obbligato on the violin, and the rehearsal went swimmingly. Everyone knew how it sounded, knew where to come in, it was perfect.

...Until you threw in the Marianne factor. In my defense, let me just remind you that funerals are truly emotionally draining. I've also been known to sort of go on automatic pilot at times in my life, particularly in emotionally draining times, alright? So I sat down at the piano, all of the grandkids were gathered up on the stand, we checked the violin for tune, and I began the introduction. Alas, I forgot I was doing an introduction, and proceeded to play the song in it's entirety. This wouldn't have mattered, except that half of the grandkids came in where they should have, but no, watch it, Marianne's decided to do a solo or something, so stop singing! And of course, my sister's watching exactly what I'm doing, so we both start giggling, which is not very conducive to the somber mood of a funeral, or to playing the piano and violin, for that matter. Leave it to me to mess up the lovely musical tribute to my grandmother.

But better than that was the viewing. I know, that's a bit of a shock, considering how I feel about viewings. The twins were about 2 and 1/2 when my grandma died. This was their first funeral, and unsure of how a viewing would go over for 2-year-olds, we decided we should arrive just before the viewing ended. When we first got there, I took a seat, and asked my kids if they'd like to go look at grandma before they closed the casket. Bravely, Morgs and Slade ran right over there and peeked their heads up over the edge to see her. After a few seconds, they came running back, all adorable and happy. That went surprisingly well, I thought. Then the funeral director announced that they would be closing the casket, so if anyone wanted one last moment with her, now was the time. "Slade," I said. "If you'd like to go see her once more, you can." Off he ran, stood on tip-toes and stared for a minute, then came running back, and broke the silent somberness with "YUP! She's DEAD alright!"

Well said, my boy. Now that's a kid you want to have around at a viewing. When people are weeping and begging my family to just open the casket, so they can at least say goodbye to me, I hope my family will just shake the casket enough so you can tell I'm in there, and then have Slade announce, "Yup! She's DEAD alright!"