Friday, 18 February 2011

Funeral party

Yesterday was such a spectacularly depressing day, fit for a funeral. I think everything about our trip to the east was bad, starting with a fight as soon as we got into the car (or even before, when some were being late), the weather, the road, the traffic, everything... And then the ceremony, which was ghastly, in a winter scenery so dreary that I literally jogged off the church hill to pursue a bakery in the middle of it, then jogged back to catch the ending, visualizing the sugar input in my blood turning the world better. I did not know the gentleman who passed on, though it seemed he was a jolly fella, those who knew him thought much of him and he was good friends with my dad's. Of course everyone there was my relative one way or another and I managed to express condolences to the wrong person, as it was the only face I recognized and it seemed safe enough to assume, as she seemed to be crying the hardest. This bit confuses me: everyone was crying so hard (though, granted, the singing band was so depressing even I did for a minute) and then two hours later, at the wake diner, everyone was chatting and laughing normally, especially the widow. I cannot imagine how I would appear to the world if something happened to the General, I only know the chances are I would stop speaking entirely and then follow him after four or five days of my own accord. I would only make certain no Christian priest ever speaks at my burial, as I find their speeches gruesome. Haha, the priest here, after the condescending propaganda babble he usually delivers - mind, the passed-on lad was purely atheistic, though apparently the family had the last say on that one - declared: Now let us pray for the one here present who will follow the soonest... Like, we're already here, all dressed up, if anyone feels that this is a good timing, please drop dead conveniently?  O.o  I know, right?! Like the morbid equivalent of wedding bouquet toss: here the next one to catch it, dies. 
             I have to say that what with the horrible songs and the horrid winter chill and the flocks of crows flying over the gray skies, and the people trembling in cold and weeping in sorrow, it was the worst funeral ever - and by these means the most appropriate one. I cannot wish upon the General to have to see my chubby white corpse in a casket soon. There can be nothing left to live for for those left behind. Okay, kids maybe. Maybe that's why people have kids. And it is certainly why they have the wake diner parties.