Date: Thu, 5 Januarie 2008 03:26:17 +0200
Subject: Ten things NOT to do at a funeral (or after)
1. Don’t EVER say “It was his/her time”. It’s never, nobody’s time, not at 1, not at 10, not at 100.
2. Don’t EVER say “He/she had a fulfilled life”. You can’t possibly know.
3. Don’t EVER say “He/she is a better world”. Chances are, if the mourner is in deep pain, you will follow the deceased in that “better world”.
4. Actually, don’t say anything, except maybe “Condoleances”.
5. Don’t praise/denigrate the priest. Don’t appreciate/disconsider his sermon. It’s just a job for him, he doesn’t give a shit.
6. Don’t FUCKING SMILE! Bite your tongue, slap your face, hit your head to the wall, just don’t smile! Let alone laugh!
7. Don’t cry just for the sake of crying, only to be seen five minutes later chatting about your favourite soap opera. If you are at the funeral to fulfill a courtesy, just stay polite. It’s enough.
8. The mourner doesn’t give a shit if you like the coffin, the flowers, the cemetery, the neighbour’s coat or anything else. Shut the fuck up.
9. You are not at the funeral to have a nice chat with your long lost friends.
10. If you don’t want to go to a funeral, don’t make up excuses. It’s not compulsory. Stay the fuck home and watch telly. Or have a beer. Or fuck. Whatever.
11. Don’t try to be nice just for the sake of it. “If you need anything, honey, A-NY-THING, just let me know”. You know what, it’s 3 am and i need a shoulder to cry on, may i call you?
12. Don’t EVER ask the mourner about future plans. Worry about your bloody business.
13. Don’t EVER complain about the circumstances (”It was so hot/cold”, “I didn’t get a seat” etc). It’s a freaking funeral, it’s supposed to be bad! And anyways, you’re way better off than the guy in the coffin.
14. Don’t try to be TOO sympathetic. You will simply look like a moron.
15. If you see a mourner a week later and the persona is sad, DON’T fucking ask: “Is something wrong?”.
Ok, there are more than ten. Actually, there may be a hundred, and if i stay a bit longer to scrap my mind about all the things i hated at my grandfather’s funeral, i have all the chances to write a short novel. But that’s not the point. The point is, that when we hear the phrase “speeding world” we don’t fully understand it, untill somebody dear to us dies. This “speeding world” has stolen many things from us, including death. People don’t die at home anymore, in the arms of their beloved. They die in hospitals, alone, amidst foreign faces and clumsy nurses. You don’t get to be with the departed, because the body gets to the - already overcrowded - morgue. You don’t get to wash the body, dress it, cumb the hair, arrange everything as you know that person would’ve liked. The deceased is dressed by some stupid alcoholic who outright asks for money. The deceased is taken to the cemetery by some agency, who couldn’t give a shit, let alone be tender to the body. You can’t go to the cemetery even at midnight if you feel so, because the cemetery has a schedule, and they fucking close the gates at 5 pm! Nobody realises you are mourning just by seeing that you are dressed in black, because black has become a fucking fashion and every imbecile is wearing it. What do you want me to do? Tatoo on my forehead “I’m mourning, you stupid cunt, swallow your bloody jokes”? You don’t get to put your shoulder to carry the coffin to the grave, now we have “professionals” who do it, and what the hell, it’s all in the graveyard fee!
To make a long story short, you are taken away almoust every possibility to be with and to CARE for your beloved departed. As much as it has become a fashion, death is a great taboo. “What, somebody died? Let’s divert the attention of the mourners. We have an arsenal of bureaucracy that comes in handy”. Death should be dealt with as fast as possibly. Let’s “help” the ones left behind. Let’s take the burden off their shoulders. Let’s take their dead!
And all you are left with are the feelings of regret, that you weren’t even able to say goodbye….
Ma indoiesc ca S.N. sta la coada la farmacie si e tratat abject, cum sintem majoritatea. Ma indoiesc ca S.N. isi roade unghiile facandu-si griji daca mai prinde medicamente compensate. Eu insa stau la coada la farmacie, imi rod unghiile de nervi gandindu-ma ca bunica va ajunge tot la imbecilul ala de doctor Horatiu Rus care l-a bagat pe bunicul in mormant. S.N., in schimb, doarme linistit. ECHIPA de medici vegheaza.
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