mOrbiD

this weekend i had to go to a wake for a friend of andy's grandfather, who had passed away (duh). i don't know this man, nor am i close to the family, but as i walked into the funeral home, an undeniable feeling of anxiety washed over me. my eyes filled with tears, which i blinked away because who wants to be the nut who is crying at a wake for a man she never met in her life.

of course, the empathy for the family is overwhelming at moments like these. while i didn't know the man himself, i do know his daughter. he is my mother in law's best friend, someone who she has refered to as a sister. i know his granddaughter. and while i am not friends with her, she is someone who was at one point inseperable with andy. so imagining the grief that they are feeling as they put up with the miserable experience of the receiving line of sorrow (more on that later), i just felt awful.

or maybe it was the vivid memory of all of the wakes that i've been to for people that i have loved. the memory of being 14 and having my best friend by my side, grieving over the way too fucking soon loss of her father. we sat in that funeral home for (what seemed like)night after endless night, and being on that "inside" is a lesson i will never forget. wakes are NOT frivilous to the family members. yet somehow you always have the assholes in the back laughing and making "it's been too long!" comments. (or bringing a bookbag and saying something about green hair, and "i wasn't sure whether or not to bring tissues." idiots.)it's not a party. it's misery. it's hell. i also remember (too vividly) when my grandfather died. my brother was named for him, and i felt that it was appropriate that he attend this wake. it was the last time he would ever see him. (as fake and manequin like as he looked. i'm assuming. because i never did look at him. i couldn't)he was 10. my 7 year old cousin was there, so i wasn't inappropriate. but my other grandfather disagreed. he YELLED at me. and he never said he was sorry that my grandfather died. i will NEVER forget that. some things stick in your mind. like who came and who didn't come. my old boss didn't come. so i didn't go when his father died. things like this...

anyway, so we walk up to the coffin. and there's a little sign in sheet (so you get credit, you know. because in her state of dementia brought on my sorrow, the deceased one's daughter might not REALIZE that you had made the ultimate sacrifice of coming and paying your respects)and then there's the big, ugly fucking wreaths of flowers with the circa-1950's banners proclaiming "beloved uncle" or "beloved godfather" or "beloved dad." (always just dad. just seems wrong somehow.) and it again washes over me. the immense WRONGNESS of wakes. this man is reduced to a banner pinned to an overpriced flower display. his wife, his daughter and son in law, his grandchildren, are lined up, after his casket (which proudly displays his dead body, which is now wearing cakey, powdery makeup)to meet and greet with all these village idiots who have come to be ever so cheery and offer their "i'm so sorry"'s. it's so fucking twisted. especially since here i am, about to have an anxiety attack (cause: emphathy? memory? being a psychic vampire?) and thinking about a class i took in college called "death, grief and religion" where my very wonderful and spiritual professor said that it was rude to say "i'm sorry" because it put's too much of the spot light on YOU, yet my aunt was highly offended when a person in her office didn't say "i'm sorry" so here i am in a predicament, also because this family fucking HATES me. (seriously. they fucking HATE me) so we get up to the front, and andy goes first and my m.i.l's friend introduces andy around ("this is andy, who i was telling you about"...WHY? why in this time of death were you telling people about andy???)and not introducing me at all, i give her a hug and this is the fucking shit i say to her "If you need anything at all, please call us. We're only 15 minutes away."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

did you hear what i said??? that's fucking RETARDED. i am so retarded. plus, i was wearing a pink shirt. was that awful?

anyway, i've decided that the custom of wakes is just wholly insane and twisted and fucked up for everyone involved. so let it be known that when i die, yes, i will have a wake. but if my body is there, it will be closed casket, with pictures of me when i was skinny and hot littering the whole funeral home. and there will be a bar set up in the corner, and cocktail waitresses going around with delicous hors d'ouvres (yea, i cannot spell, can i?) and treats, and my favorite things, like olives and hot dry sausage and perhaps some McDonalds. and definately an ice cream bar. and there will be music playing, upbeat and awesome. and it will be a party. with no fucking receiving line. and you'll do a shot of goldschlager or soco and lime in my honor and memory. and no one will have an anxiety attack.