The problem with funeral homes is that I selfishly end up thinking of me. I think of my dad. I now think of Grandma Dolly. But mostly I think of my dad. The hurt, loss, and confusion of dad's death make me empathize with the living I go to console.
Flowers are nice, but they don't matter. The people who care about you and send kind words, hugs, or laughs are the real medicine. I have such an amazing network of friends and family. They have made the loss of my father, and recent loss of my Grandma, much easier.
Even so- my dad and grandma are gone, as is every person who ends up lying in a box in the front of a room of strangers, family, and friends. While my dad and grandma have lived on in stories, these stories are told with a different voice and a different point of view. I would love to listen to my grandma talk about the crazy people she lived near. Better yet, I'd like to listen to her brag about the deals she landed at Penny's. I'd like to her my dad's advice. I'd like to hear his voice. I've done so many things I'm proud of since he passed. People's assuring phrase "your father would be proud" doesn't quite cut it.
But they're right. He would be. Or is, depending on your views of what happen when people die. My dad was mad when I called off work to go to the hospital. He made me go take a midterm when he received his stem cell transplant. He wouldn't want me to get sad when people eat eggs sunny side up or when I blow out my birthday candles.
It is reasons like this rant that make going to funeral homes a no-brainer People need friends and family to lean on, tell jokes, and say their loved ones would be proud of them. It doesn't make things right. It does, however, make them easier.
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