The Funeral

I went to a funeral today for an old friend. Everyone acknowledged what a nice person he was. People took turns trying to outdo each other with the “I’ve known him longer” and “I knew him better” stories. As my grandaddy used to say, “They were a day late and a dollar short.” I had to think my friend would’ve liked to have known all those nice things before he died. As usual, I didn’t have much of anything to say; I was just waiting for the cucumber sandwiches.

The scenario today got me to thinking. People are never hesitant to share not-so-nice things with each other. Over the past few weeks, I’ve been called a parasite, a bitch, and a fat-ass. I’ve been told to get a life. I was even told I was not worth someone’s ‘emotional energy’. However, there’s something about funerals that brings out the ‘emotional energy’ we hide away from our friends; the feelings we are too afraid to express until it’s too darned late.

So, starting today, I’ve decided to plan my own funeral. I’m going to schedule it on a day I know I can attend. What’s with this craziness about having a room full of people stand up and praise you on the one day they know you’ve got other plans? It makes no sense. I’m going to order some flowers, pick out some somber songs, and park my backside in the first pew so I can hear all of the things my so-called friends have to say about me.

I wonder which one will say they've known me the longest and which one will think they know me best. But more important, I wonder which one will come just for the cucumber sandwiches.