The Funeral . . .

It was a small gathering of mourners who had been together now for several hours.

Scattered as they had become, it was rare when they assembled,
But even still, in family ways, they all still resembled

The word had spread that he had passed away,
No one knew much about his recent years or where he had gone to stay.
The truth was they might never have known except for his plastic card
Which helps officials in that emergency identification regard.

Even tho’ they had all drifted apart, they each knew his life had been complicated,
Some called it depression, others said he simply needed assistance,
But all agreed that he had somehow become disenchanted,
Yet, when they tried to lend a hand, they were met with resistance.

These folks were not people of means which their funeral clothes verified,
Each had struggled with just the travel costs to be here;
But, they had to come because of death . . . they were each one terrified
And in such times, with the family they needed to be near.

They met with the folks at the funeral home to discuss the cost
Of burying this brother who had recently been lost.
Insisting on a full funeral, they each signed over the money from their tax return
As they declared that cremation was out, they could not let their brother burn.

It was sad to see the way they tried to deal with their grief;
They ordered him a better suit of clothes than he had ever worn in life,
Rented a limo for his final ride . . . a better car than he had ever ridden in since he had mostly depended on government relief,
His Service was held in a modest church, but still a superior place than any place he had ever lived.

The preacher said the final words as they all stood by the open grave
The mourners shuffled and bowed their heads.
As badly as they feared death, each one still tried to appear brave,
As the service drew to a close, each was haunted with his own dreads.

The wise man Solomon wrote that there is a time for all things,
For planting and harvesting, living and dying
When my time comes to an end, I hope there will be no attached strings,
And I will have covered my own expense, and the preacher won’t need to do any lying!

Times sure have changed from years gone by,
And the mortician has raised the bar in folk’s death.
There was a time when your uncle, cousins, and them
Would simply have built you a box and dug you a grave after you did die and ran out of breath.

Note: I have observed this scene play out many times in my life. Poor families under the burden of grief-making serious financial sacrifices to send a loved one off in grand style . . . oftentimes far above anything he or she ever experienced in life. I hope when my time comes my family will not feel any such need for such extremes . . . please know that my life has been grand . . . and my next life will be far better that anything the mortician can sell you. So, save the funeral money and instead gather my friends and loved ones and have a lovely meal together and rejoice over my deliverance from life in a fallen world! If there is anything left, find a kid who needs a pair of new shoes . . . that has been something that has always been pretty important for me.

 

 

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