Funerals

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I cannot bear funerals anymore. I went to my share of them when I was younger and other than being upset to see my loved ones sad, it didn't bother me that much. I would go on with my life afterward as usual. My grandmother's funeral in 1999 was different, maybe because I was so close to her. I hate that my final and overriding memory of her is lying in a casket. For a couple of years after her funeral, I would be overwhelmed with sadness, thinking of her in that box, out in the cemetery, all alone. I could not deal with it. I vowed then that I wouldn’t attend any more funerals. I just cannot handle it anymore.

I know that most people feel that a funeral will give them the closure they need when a loved one dies, but just the fact that I won't see them anymore is closure enough for me. My family is very important to me. You can always make the argument that the funeral business is a racket: it’s prohibitively expensive and people can guilt you into going into debt so you won’t be dishonoring your loved one. And there are people who feel that unless you show up at every family function, then you obviously have no regard for your family. I prefer to visit my family while they’re alive.

When my father-in-law passed away, he wanted only to be cremated with no funeral. I was astonished; I never knew anyone who died and didn’t have a funeral. He was also the first person I knew who wanted to be cremated. My Mom was impressed with that too. We discussed it when she became terminally ill. I asked her what kind of funeral she wanted, where wanted to be buried, etc. She told me she wanted to be cremated and to not deal with a funeral. If I wanted to do a memorial service, that would be fine. I told her to tell everyone, so they wouldn’t be mad at me when she died, but some of them still were. It wasn’t my decision. If I had had the money, I would have given her a full Viking funeral with fireworks, dancing bears, cheerleaders and the Rolling Stones playing, if she had wanted it but she didn’t. Her co-workers and friends at the hospital where she worked gave her a memorial service that I didn’t attend. I wasn’t able to handle that either.

My wonderful, sweet, big, gorgeous uncle Larry is gone and his funeral is on Saturday. I won’t be there. I want to remember him the last time like I saw him earlier this year: sitting at his kitchen table, laughing about some book he had read. I want to remember his snuffling giggle and his stories about the cool things he found at the flea market, or what his grandkids were up to. He was a good man and I’ll miss him very much.

Turning Points

1. When I knew I didn't want to be a parent

I never particularly liked children I wasn't related to, even when I was a child. I adored my little cousins, but other little kids mostly annoyed me. I figured that as I grew older, my biological clock would start ticking and I would want a family of my own. That's how it works, right? My mind was made up by an incident when I was 17 years old.

My aunt lived in an mobile home with her husband, who was away working, and their young son. She called me one day and said that she was sick with the flu; would I mind staying the weekend at their place and taking care of the toddler? She could barely get out of bed. I adored my little cousin, so naturally, I said yes.

The first night, I was asleep on the sofa right outside my little cousin's room.  He woke me up by screaming. I opened the door to his room and a wall of stench poured over me. I turned on the light and there he was: standing up in his crib and shaking the slats on the side, brown smears all over his face, his body, the wall, the ceiling, the carpet.......it was a world of shit.

Gagging for all I was worth, I gingerly picked him up, taking care not to get any more shit on me than was necessary. I took him to the bathroom and washed him off, then got him settled on the sofa so he would fall asleep again. I wiped up as much of the shit as I could see and tried to clean the room as best I could. The shit was EVERYWHERE, he must have been flinging it like a monkey at the zoo.

I looked at the sweet toddler sleeping peacefully on the couch and thought to myself, "I don't ever want to have to do this again. Babies are shit machines, so I don't think I want to have kids. Nope, I do NOT want to have children".

You know, I'm 50 years old now and I've never regretted that decision. I made sure to marry someone who felt the same way. I don't get pangs of regret when I see cute little kids. I like hearing about my friends' grand kids, but don't ask me to baby sit.  I recoil when asked to hold newborn babies. Babies are like elephants. I like them just fine, but not in my house, 24 hours a day. As for toddlers, I prefer to get them all sugared up, then send them back to their parents.

2. When I knew I wanted to be married

I was introduced to my husband by a mutual friend. We were attracted to each other from the start; there was an immediate spark between us. He was not in a good place mentally or physically when we met; he was terrifically depressed. Lest the pot call the kettle black, I had also been only a year or two of a psychiatric hospital myself for depression and had battled my "black dog" since I was a child. We both seemed to know that we were each others savior and that we needed to be together.

We moved in together about a month after getting together. He started in with the "when we get married, we'll......." talk right away. I was shocked; I thought no one would ever want to marry me because I was too damaged. Even his father was in on it. As his Dad was calling for a part to my POS Renault, he told the guy on the phone that it was for "my son's fiance" and he winked at me. I blushed furiously. He's told his parents? He must be serious! It started to seem like a good idea and a feasible one at that.

Several years went by, and I was finally able to attend the University of North Texas, but only if I could qualify for financial aid. Being married would solve that problem, so I told him that we should probably go ahead and get married. Nothing would be different, we had been living together for the past 4 years anyway. So we did it. I've never regretted it, I knew it was absolutely the right decision. We've had our problems at times, like every couple, but he's the one for me. Our separate weirdnesses complement each other perfectly.

3. Moving away from home

My Mom had been dead for a little over a year. Every time I went home to visit family, it was painful to me that she wasn't there. I couldn't call her every day anymore. My husband's sister had been living in Austin and we would go down to visit her and her husband for wild weekends, always enjoying ourselves and marveling at what a great place Austin was; wouldn't it be great to live there? There was always something to do: cool places to shop, great restaurants.....why not move here?

My husband had been supporting me after Mom died while I was getting her house ready to be sold, then I started working at an antique mall in Dallas, a job I loved but it didn't pay. We decided in late 2003 that we should go ahead and move to Austin. One of our friends also lived in Austin and he was able to hook me up with a job at a mortgage company. In February, 2004 I came down and found a rent house close to the in laws and we were set. Life has been pretty good since then.