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impyWent to Ben's funeral yesterday and I'm just going to ramble a bit about it.
It was hot as fuck and not even technically all that hot, but when the car's AC doesn't work and it's nothing but sunshine and the occasional fat, fluffy cloud, it's gonna be hot. The kind of day you'd normally find my brother and Ben heading out somewhere to do something, so I guess as far as fitting days to see someone off, this worked.
I was right when I suggested that we leave a little earlier because the road the church is on is also the only way to the beach, so... yeah. First full Friday with no school and it's sunny as hell? Yup, everyone was beachward bound.
Well.
Not everyone.
Widget, Mums, and I got out of the car and I saw my brother appear from a car, along with Kevin (the boy's childhood BFF), Kevin's wife and their (her?) kids, as well as a few other people I don't know but feel like I should. Like I've never met Kevin's wife before and I'm only guessing that's who she is because they all sat together. Someone I'm *sure* I'm supposed to know fixed Widget's tie for him (my brother had it with him; apparently all the dudes in the know were sporting Carolina Panthers ties) and we headed for the church. I don't think I've ever set foot in Nativity before, actually. Not the church proper, anyway. I did a summer camp there (not church related, btw) one year but I don't think we were really allowed inside anything during that.
Signed the guestbook and it was like I'd never written my own name before. Brother hugged Ben's mama and told her he wanted to say something, so she and the priest figured out where to slot him in. I looked around for a coworker's husband but didn't see him. I looked at the little handout they give you so you can follow along with the service (but like, not everything, which was a choice given how few Catholics were in attendance and how few of those who were knew when to join in) and realized that other than his name on the front, there was nothing about Ben to be found inside. Which followed through the service, if I'm honest. I admit I haven't been to a lot of funerals and the ones I have have been stretched out over 40 or so years and were all different from each other, but some do seem to do a better job of capturing the spirit of the departed.
There was a bit where the priest gave a few bits that sounded ripped right from the obit and that was about it for most of the time. I had a moment fairly early on when I got hit by just how sad it is that there was so little of Ben to be found in his own funeral and then wondered if the funerals I'd missed for my coworkers over the last few years had been different.
Realized I am now the age to pull out tissues from my purse to give to Widget when he started to cry and I'm also of the age to see someone in damn near club gear and think to myself, "that's not quite a church dress." even if I don't go to church. Spent a lot of time wondering who the guy in the tank and shorts was. Since it was Catholic service, spent a lot of time sitting and standing and then not kneeling because my knees have always been shit, thank you.
After Communion, my brother was called up and was the only person to speak. Which was a weird mix of pride and wondering wtf. Like, did they not want anyone to speak and he just had to, or was he the only one who could, or knew there'd be a decided lack of his actual friend in the service and needed to fix it?
I thought we were then supposed to go to the cemetery and then back to the church for refreshments as they kept putting it, but nope, apparently either no graveside service or that was after lunch. While trying to figure this out, we all wound up outside and ran into Kevin's mom, who walked over and asked in that very bewildered voice older folks get when they see someone they haven't seen in eons, "B?" when she was standing in front of my mom. It took me entirely too long to figure out this was Kevin's mom because turns out when you haven't seen someone since you were 11, they look A LOT DIFFERENT. Who knew?
Didn't realize the guy on his phone the whole time next to Kevin was his older brother, so that was a bit of a mindfuck considering when we were growing up, he and I were in the same class one year in elementary school and we'd all play together for awhile. Again, single digit years here, so... yeah.
Mums and I eventually left because I had work last night and even with the sunscreen I was coated in, I was beginning to wonder if I'd be frying sooner rather than later, and Widget stayed behind with his dad to keep him out of trouble. I think that was part of it, but he also wanted to be with people who knew Ben and would actually talk about him.
Which has been my problem with funerals, honestly. In fiction, everyone gathers around and shares tales of the departed and their favorite or not so favorite memories. You learn something new, even if it's small, and you cling to that, or to the knowledge that you shared something new for someone else. In reality it's a lot of tap dancing around the dead.
Considering Widget didn't come home til I was putting my shoes on for work, I assume the memory sharing happened after I left. So maybe it's just me.
Earlier, as we sat in the church and watched people sit down, I realized that when you wear black a lot, it's hard to be able to tell what's best for a funeral because I like all my outfits and have different occasions for them. I need not have worried about my choice because a) tank top and shorts dude was there and b) so long as it was black, it would've made the cut.
Decided that when I die, my dresscode is very simple: wear that thing you've been waiting for an excuse to wear. Got a costume in the closet you haven't worn because when the hell are you going to get invited to a costume party? For the love of me, please wear it. Happiest in your PJs and want to wear them? Go for it. Got a sparkly number you had to get because of magpie genes and haven't ever had a reason to wear it? Yup. You get the idea.
I'd like to say I was left with some profound thought or feeling but that's just not how these things go, for me anyway.
It was hot as fuck and not even technically all that hot, but when the car's AC doesn't work and it's nothing but sunshine and the occasional fat, fluffy cloud, it's gonna be hot. The kind of day you'd normally find my brother and Ben heading out somewhere to do something, so I guess as far as fitting days to see someone off, this worked.
I was right when I suggested that we leave a little earlier because the road the church is on is also the only way to the beach, so... yeah. First full Friday with no school and it's sunny as hell? Yup, everyone was beachward bound.
Well.
Not everyone.
Widget, Mums, and I got out of the car and I saw my brother appear from a car, along with Kevin (the boy's childhood BFF), Kevin's wife and their (her?) kids, as well as a few other people I don't know but feel like I should. Like I've never met Kevin's wife before and I'm only guessing that's who she is because they all sat together. Someone I'm *sure* I'm supposed to know fixed Widget's tie for him (my brother had it with him; apparently all the dudes in the know were sporting Carolina Panthers ties) and we headed for the church. I don't think I've ever set foot in Nativity before, actually. Not the church proper, anyway. I did a summer camp there (not church related, btw) one year but I don't think we were really allowed inside anything during that.
Signed the guestbook and it was like I'd never written my own name before. Brother hugged Ben's mama and told her he wanted to say something, so she and the priest figured out where to slot him in. I looked around for a coworker's husband but didn't see him. I looked at the little handout they give you so you can follow along with the service (but like, not everything, which was a choice given how few Catholics were in attendance and how few of those who were knew when to join in) and realized that other than his name on the front, there was nothing about Ben to be found inside. Which followed through the service, if I'm honest. I admit I haven't been to a lot of funerals and the ones I have have been stretched out over 40 or so years and were all different from each other, but some do seem to do a better job of capturing the spirit of the departed.
There was a bit where the priest gave a few bits that sounded ripped right from the obit and that was about it for most of the time. I had a moment fairly early on when I got hit by just how sad it is that there was so little of Ben to be found in his own funeral and then wondered if the funerals I'd missed for my coworkers over the last few years had been different.
Realized I am now the age to pull out tissues from my purse to give to Widget when he started to cry and I'm also of the age to see someone in damn near club gear and think to myself, "that's not quite a church dress." even if I don't go to church. Spent a lot of time wondering who the guy in the tank and shorts was. Since it was Catholic service, spent a lot of time sitting and standing and then not kneeling because my knees have always been shit, thank you.
After Communion, my brother was called up and was the only person to speak. Which was a weird mix of pride and wondering wtf. Like, did they not want anyone to speak and he just had to, or was he the only one who could, or knew there'd be a decided lack of his actual friend in the service and needed to fix it?
I thought we were then supposed to go to the cemetery and then back to the church for refreshments as they kept putting it, but nope, apparently either no graveside service or that was after lunch. While trying to figure this out, we all wound up outside and ran into Kevin's mom, who walked over and asked in that very bewildered voice older folks get when they see someone they haven't seen in eons, "B?" when she was standing in front of my mom. It took me entirely too long to figure out this was Kevin's mom because turns out when you haven't seen someone since you were 11, they look A LOT DIFFERENT. Who knew?
Didn't realize the guy on his phone the whole time next to Kevin was his older brother, so that was a bit of a mindfuck considering when we were growing up, he and I were in the same class one year in elementary school and we'd all play together for awhile. Again, single digit years here, so... yeah.
Mums and I eventually left because I had work last night and even with the sunscreen I was coated in, I was beginning to wonder if I'd be frying sooner rather than later, and Widget stayed behind with his dad to keep him out of trouble. I think that was part of it, but he also wanted to be with people who knew Ben and would actually talk about him.
Which has been my problem with funerals, honestly. In fiction, everyone gathers around and shares tales of the departed and their favorite or not so favorite memories. You learn something new, even if it's small, and you cling to that, or to the knowledge that you shared something new for someone else. In reality it's a lot of tap dancing around the dead.
Considering Widget didn't come home til I was putting my shoes on for work, I assume the memory sharing happened after I left. So maybe it's just me.
Earlier, as we sat in the church and watched people sit down, I realized that when you wear black a lot, it's hard to be able to tell what's best for a funeral because I like all my outfits and have different occasions for them. I need not have worried about my choice because a) tank top and shorts dude was there and b) so long as it was black, it would've made the cut.
Decided that when I die, my dresscode is very simple: wear that thing you've been waiting for an excuse to wear. Got a costume in the closet you haven't worn because when the hell are you going to get invited to a costume party? For the love of me, please wear it. Happiest in your PJs and want to wear them? Go for it. Got a sparkly number you had to get because of magpie genes and haven't ever had a reason to wear it? Yup. You get the idea.
I'd like to say I was left with some profound thought or feeling but that's just not how these things go, for me anyway.
(no subject)
Date: 2023-06-20 04:53 pm (UTC)Comparatively, I was as close as I can be (I have intimacy issues) to my dad. The shock lasted for a solid month, and I felt terrible at my lack of pain (I even called up a very good friend upset by my lack of upset and I was deeply concerned I was a psychopath or a sociopath because I wasn't as devastated as I thought I should be - in hindsight, my devastation was & is quieter than what media/society seems to indicate is the expectation).
I would have killed for this reaction (figuratively). My reaction was more of a quiet sadness. Dad got the death he wanted (I didn't find his body, he had all of his mental capacity right up to the end), he didn't suffer, he just had a heart attack while he was running a half marathon. I have a photo of him taken ~45 minutes before he passed away, and he looks happy and in his element.
Death is definitely startling at best and utterly gut wrenching at worst. I am so sorry for your loss as well. I am glad you had such a wonderful relationship with your dad *hugs*
And yeah, I definitely felt the timeline was weirdly close. Dad was incredibly healthy, he got fit and was a runner (ran Boston Twice, qualified 4 times - one time he was unable to run due to an injury, and the 4th time he passed before he could sign up to run). I honestly thought he'd live another two decades.
I inherited the house after he died, so I had two people's worth of stuff that I a still working my way through.