The Funeral

Facebook reminded me that today is the 6 year anniversary of my father's funeral. Feels like a much shorter time but also very long ago. My father disowned me the last two years of his life, but once he was away from my step mother I did see him twice in the care facility he was living at. I wasn't sad when he died. My grief was for what never was and what would never happen.

There was concern that I would cause a scene at the funeral. Now I see why everyone would be scared as I have a mouth and a lot to say about my father. But truly my only concern was getting through the day and I didn't have the energy to lose my shit. I was in Las Vegas when he died, which was hysterical on many levels, and told my family I'd look for an earlier flight out. I never checked a single flight. I was flying out that night anyway and saw no need to get back to where I wasn't all that wanted anyway. I heard he died, went down to the casino and bought a donut and latte, and scarfed it down while watching old people smoke and play slot machines. That night at dinner, which was most of my family except me, the talk came back to worries of what I'd do. My husband spoke up and said, "She can do whatever the fuck she wants to do! He was her father and she can speak up in any way!!" He's now my ex-husband but his speaking out on my behalf will always be a cherished memory. 

My step mother didn't want my brothers and I involved in the funeral planning, but my youngest brother is skilled at swaying people so we were there as the details were sorted out. He also asked to speak and I smirked as my step mother grizzled at the thought. Other people were in the room, and she was all about appearances, so she begrudgingly agreed. The church's coordinator came in to tell us about meal choices and this is where things went sideways in the best way. He was obviously gay, think Cam from Modern Family, but apparently married to a woman with a few kids. He starts describing a salad choice and my brothers and I were struggling to keep composed because it was the gayest salad description I've ever heard. One of my brothers texted us "Are we being punked right now?!" and the other brother, who is also gay, and I were pinching ourselves to not scream laugh. Being the loudest laugher of the bunch I had to excuse myself to the bathroom where I sat on the floor in a stall howling at top volume with tears running down my face. It was a perfect moment.

Funeral day came and I was lock jawed and trying to hold it together. I knew more than half the place was going to be friends of my father and step mother, and likely all thinking I was the devil. My crime? I told my father dying of Alzheimer's that he shouldn't drive and that my step mother, showing early dementia signs, shouldn't either. I know...I'm so awful. I wanted to get through the day without a public breakdown. I saw he had a casket, as I didn't know what his last wishes were, and thought "Why isn't he cremated? This is obnoxious." It got worse. I was trying to make myself cry, make myself feel something other than relief, trying to get myself good and worked up as I went up to the casket. I said in my head, "That's your dead father. You should feel something.". I looked in the casket and my impression was the embalmer put a smirk on his face. I went from almost crying to eye rolling. 

The funeral was pretty average all things considered. My brother gave a nice tribute as I could feel all eyes of their friends on the opposite side of the church glaring through me. Now this was an Evangelical funeral so the pastor gave the obligatory, "If you want to see him again you'll make sure you give your life to Jesus!" I thought, "Well cool I'm agnostic because I don't want to see him again!". One of my father's friends came up and was talking about him. He went from regular speech to an emotional scream, "He was the kind of guy who would have taken the cross from Jesus and carried it ALL THE WAY TO CALVARY!!". My brother was still on stage and we caught each other's eyes and nearly imploded trying to hold the laughter in. For years we'd start phone calls with, "ALL THE WAY TO CALVARY!". 

My son started crying when they put the casket in the hearse. I started to cry also and ran to the bathroom where I was followed by a ton of women trying to comfort me. I heard how he was a great man, a great father, so missed and I said, "He treated me like shit and you all know this.". They left.

At the cemetery I had decided I wasn't going to leave until I could let him go. I didn't want to be haunted by a lifetime of his pain. Everyone left and I stood there alone. It was a great movie moment idea if I'd let him go there but our brains don't exactly work like that. The snow was coming down lightly and my family were watching and waiting by their cars. Finally my brother came to the casket to lead me away.