I don’t like Funerals either

I Don’t Like Funerals Either
When my grandmother died, I told my coworkers at the office that I would have to leave work early later in the week to attend her funeral. “Funerals are always so sad”, I said. I was then offered this advice by almost everyone,” You should celebrate her death. Be happy!” No matter how I try to approach a person’s death, I can’t help but feel sad about it. If I were having the best day of my life, I would still feel very sad and depressed in the company of my family at a funeral.
On the day of the funeral, I had to work right up until the last minute. I never know what to wear to a funeral. I don’t own too many “nice clothes.” I did manage to pull out the cream of the crop of what is considered my wardrobe, though. I thought I looked like a million bucks in my khaki pants, white, button down shirt and my only pair of dress shoes I refer to as my “Clod hoppers”. I drove in the direction I believed the funeral home to be. I had no directions and I didn’t even know the name of the place. I called my dad to see if he could offer any assistance. My dad had been very close to my grandmother even after my mom divorced him. He would call her and occasionally come to visit her. He was attending her funeral that day too and told me exactly where the funeral home was located. This particular funeral home used to be a “country cookin’ “restaurant a couple of years ago. I had actually eaten there a couple of times, but had forgotten all about it until I walked through the entrance and saw the layout of the place. I looked around before the service started and thought,” Oh, that’s what Uncle Jim looks like when he cries.” It’s unsettling at times to see people in such a vulnerable state.
My mom had my grandmother cremated because she could not afford a traditional burial. This was more of a memorial service than a full fledged funeral. I met relatives I had never met before and saw many I hadn’t seen in years. People kept asking if my brother and I were twins. I assured them we were 18 months apart in age and I was much better looking than my ugly brother. When the service began, I was seated next to my crying mother and my ugly brother. I kept the tears in as much as possible, but a few escaped and my nose began running. I tried to think of other things as relatives took to the podium to express their grief for my dead grandmother. The service was short and afterwards, there was food to be had in the kitchen of the restaurant turned funeral home. I wasn’t in an eating mood so I soon left with my mom, brother and stepfather.
We reunited at a bar close to my mom’s apartment. This would prove to be a bad idea. We had a few drinks and continued drinking at my mom’s home. The more she drank, of course, the worse she got. Out came the tears and memories both good and bad. Once a relative dies, all the stories come out. I learned a lot a bout my family I did not know. I also learned a lot about my family I did not want to know. There are many family secrets and they are secrets for a reason. My brother and I tried to comfort her as best we could and then we realized she just needed sleep. I stayed a while longer before I decided it would be better if I left. So I did.
As I was driving home that night, my friend called to tell me he was sorry for my loss. He had heard the bad news from a mutual friend of ours. I told him how my day had been and he confessed he had only attended one funeral in his whole life. “Are you serious?” I asked. He was very serious. He told me couldn’t handle them. He has issues with death. “It’s all too sad.” he said. He probably won’t even go to my funeral. Of course, I won’t know because I will be dead and I suppose funerals are more for the living than the dead anyway. I won’t be mad at him though. I don’t like funerals either.