You Can’t Spell “Fun” Without “Funeral”!

Come on! You know you love a bit of obsession with the morbid, don’t you? Wait, not the over-the-top sort of obsession that results in necrophilia, but the level that occurs just below that. A healthy obsession is what I'd like to call it, even if it is anything but.

Reading through a blog yesterday, which had its link sent to me by a good friend of mine, I came across a man mentioning his inability to keep himself under control at funerals. And “inability to keep himself under control” is a euphemism for “constant laughing”. And this is the absolute truth on his half. Who might this man be; why, none other than Joe the Peacock, who writes all those fantastic life stories seen at Mentally Incontinent (refer to the ‘Recommended Sites’ list on the right hand side of the page for more details).

That got me thinking: I’ve been to a lot of funerals, I’ve remarked a number of times about the comedic value associated so frequently with attendance to the aforementioned, I’ve poked fun at the fact that I’ve been to nearly my age in funerals (off the top of my memory, it’s 14 “funerals” to 17 “years old”, although the technical definition of “going to a funeral” is subject to scrutiny – can you count those to which you’ve only gone to the reception afterwards? You’ve got me!).

I remember this one funeral…it was quite a while ago now – in other words, it was last month, as I must have been to at least 6 this week alone – and my family and I were in church (as you are, you know: waiting around, spotting any relatives you hadn’t seen in several years, then inappropriately yelling and waving at them from one church pew to another). Anyway, during one part of the service, the priest said the words “All rise”…

And I half-expected the coffin to pop open, with the recently deceased sitting bolt-upright!

Now, I know what you’re thinking. If you’re one of those people who is remotely sane. "That’s not right at all; that’s utterly tactless, and there is no place in this world for that sort of thinking", right? I’m not going to lie to you; such a thought is in bad taste. But I think when you’ve been to as many funerals as I have, it’s those little amusements that stop you from losing it entirely, and becoming a clinically depressed mess. I certainly know of people close to me who have ended up on that path, and it is not a pretty sight. Hey, I think I went to one of their funerals; that's how bad it was!

But the thing that gets me most about funerals is the reception afterwards. Sure, everyone is generally obliged to feel sad and shed a tear or two if necessary whilst inside the church, and these emotions are to be amplified whenever the congregation moves along to a nearby cemetery to lay the late to rest. I've no problem with people showing emotion at gatherings like this. Yet the instant we all enter that reception hall, I kid you not; it’s like a massive party. As if it’s a celebration of the person’s death. What’s that all about? I know full well that isn’t the case at all, but I can’t help but think that on some level, these family members and friends are displaying such exuberant behaviour because someone has died.

On the other hand, to combat that, I’ve been told to attend a couple of funerals before simply to obtain food. Yes, that’s right. Somebody has died, gone up to heaven (if you believe in heaven. I think we’ll leave that argument for another day), and people decide to see them off into the afterlife by wolfing down a plate full of chicken, rice and peas. Lovely. To add to that; getting drunk at a funeral? Well, that’s the pinnacle of loneliness right there.

No, I haven’t been drunk at funerals, but others in my extended family certainly have.

Oh, and by the way, congratulations to you if you spotted the deliberate error in the title. You deserve a cookie.