March 6, 2002

Earlier this year I briefly wrote about visiting Lisa's grandmother over Christmas, who was suffering from Alzheimer's. This past Saturday, she suffered a heart attack and passed away at age 78. The funeral was yesterday, at a Mennonite church just outside St. Catharines. Lisa was never very close to her father's side of the family; as such she wasn't close to her Grandma, so our attending the funeral was not as fraught with emotion as one might expect when a grandparent passes on.

Funerals are very surreal experiences, from the open casket on out. I've never been fond of that particular aspect; when my Pa (Mom's dad) passed away, I refused to go look at the open casket, insisting that I'd rather remember what he looked like when he was alive. I don't need to stare at an embalmed body to know the soul that had resided there has moved on. Besides, they're just weird looking. One half expects them to animate, sit up in the coffin, open their eyes and start talking. Like we're all part of some low grade B movie or something.

The service itself was 20% about the person and 80% about the religion. There were songs of faith sung by the congregation and a lengthy diatribe by the pastor about St. Paul and how his life was measured pre- and post-saviour. The pastor was trying to tell the tale using modern references and sayings. Not my cup of tea necessarily, but it wasn't my funeral. It brought comfort to the immediate family, and that's what mattered most at that time. (Really, in all times of need and crisis, whatever works best for giving someone comfort should be the path to tread.)

As the pastor gave his speech I gazed through the window, looking out upon rows of dormant grapevines that stretched a half kilometre to the next main road. On the church grounds there was a swingset, whose chains were twisting slowly in the breeze. I reflected on how this all must feel to Lisa's Grandpa. They were married for 60 of their 78 years. How gut-wrenching and how suddenly empty he must be feeling now, having his other half taken from him. I tried to comprehend 60 years. It made the 16 1/2 years we have been a couple seem so short, even though the 16 1/2 years feel like a lifetime. I imagined myself in his position; if Lisa was suddenly gone from my life; if I was the one beside the casket, gazing for the last time upon the face of my wife. It was incomprehensible; the only way I will ever truly know what I would be feeling at that time will be if and/or when that time occurs. My thoughts then turned to a certain online persona who has been in the position that Grandpa was in yesterday; who has comprehended, has lived, what I can only imagine at this time. (If you are reading this, I wish I could accurately put into words here how the whole funeral experience yesterday has given me a little insight into the depths of grief you have felt in your life. In a most oblique method, it makes me more appreciative of our friendship.)

Personally, I'm of the opinion that a funeral shouldn't be all about the religion. It should be, nay must be, a celebration of the life of the recently departed. There should be music, drink, laughter, dance, anecdotes and an all-around raucous time had by all. I was thinking yesterday as we were driving back to Toronto, that after I've shuffled off this mortal coil, as my casket is wheeled down the aisle, Another One Bites The Dust should be playing in background. Don't worry, I'm not really serious about doing that. Bet it made you smile and/or groan and roll your eyes when you read it though. That's what I want when it's my time - more bad puns and wry grins and less wailing and gnashing of teeth.

Bleah. Enough death and despair. Onto the world's oddest segue:

Happy 97th Birthday, Grandma!

| Previous | Home | Next |