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May 22, 2005 It happens every time. I have been visiting funeral homes a great deal lately. I notice that about aging, more people you know are dying. I often wondered why my dad slept in his suit at night. He visited the funeral home almost everyday, visiting an old railroader or an old railroader’s wife and didn’t want to change his clothes all the time. He’s ninety-two now and has run out of people to visit at the mortuary. It’s kind of funny how things work. When you’re young, you usually don’t know any of the names in the obituaries and when you’re old, you don’t recognize any of the names. Hmm? It happens every time. You walk up to the casket of the recently deceased and someone inevitably says, “Doesn’t he look nice.” Of course, out of politeness you return, “He sure does.” What’s that? Fifteen pounds of pancake makeup, several stitches to keep the eyes closed, and a broken jaw to keep the mouth from gaping, does not define “nice” for me. How about this statement of the obvious, “He looks peaceful.” Well, yes he does. Like he’s to look some other way? When visiting the casket, have you ever seen a loved one with the look of abject fear on his/her face? I don’t think so. I’ve noticed lately that we now get to watch a video in the back of the viewing room of the deceased’s earlier days, anything to keep us from seeing our wax-like friend up front. Have you seen those videos? I saw one a few months back. The pictures showed my friend drinking a beer and trying to goose his sister-in-law. Well, damn, Fred, the world finally knows you’ve spent most of your life as a pervert. Another video showed an old friend holding a gun with a dead German lying next to him. I don’t know, is there something wrong with that picture? I went to the funeral of my friend’s mother. My friend just happens to be Mentally Retarded. When he walked into the funeral home, he went straight to his mother’s casket, stopped, saluted (British style), and yelled at the top of his lungs, “She’s dead, what am I going to do?” My friend did an about-face and walked to the back of the viewing room. I tried not to laugh, but it was pretty darn difficult to keep from peeing my trousers. About four years ago, I went to a friend’s sister’s funeral. I had never seen the lady before, but out of respect, of course I went. I forgot the name of the lady and walked into the wrong parlor, sit down, and waited to see my friend. He never showed. Finally, an older lady came up to me and asked me if I was a friend of her husband’s. I looked at the casket and sure enough, a gray wrinkled elderly gentleman was lying in state. Did I feel like an idiot? I didn’t know exactly what to say. So, I told her the truth. The lady smiled blankly at me as I exited her mourning site.
Once I worked with a gentleman whose sister was homeless. In fact, the entire family was “dirt” poor and no one had an IQ of over 50. I don’t say this slanderously, but truthfully. His sister died and I helped my friend get to the funeral home where all his relatives waited, unbathed, unkempt, and unaware of anything going on around them. The funeral services began and no one presided over the service. After a great deal of waiting for a sermon of some type, a funeral home worker came up to the podium with a piece of newspaper in his hands. He read the obituary and said, “Amen.” I breathed a sigh of relief and drove three cars back in the procession of four.
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