Great Expectations
Having attended two funerals in 6 months, I find myself totally disenchanted with the funeral industry. Maybe I just expect too damn much after watching "Six Feet Under" for 5 years.
At my cousin's funeral, there was no kind, caring brother figure to help us with our grief, nor were we allowed the luxury of a last goodbye. Instead, we were ushered like cattle, past the casket and out the doors. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.
Okay, so maybe we were behind schedule and just needed to get the show on the road. Nope. You see, we didn't have a funeral procession. No endless stream of cars, with lights on and a police escort to make sure we arrived en masse at the grave site. We were given a 3 hour lunch break and were told to meet up at the cemetery.
Odd? You betcha. The Old Masonic Cemetery, where my cousin was laid to rest next to my grandparents overlooking the lake, is in Chappel Hill, Texas. That's an hour away on a freeway that is currently under construction. Mid-afternoon. On a Friday. I hadn't been there in 8 years, needless to say, I missed the turn and was well on my way to Washington on the Brazos.
It boggles the mind how one can get the Time Crunch lunch at 12:30 (served in 15 minutes or it's free!) and still be late 2 1/2 hours later, but I have done it.
The family held back the start of the service since neither myself nor my cousin's ex-wife had arrived yet. Twenty minutes later, I ran into my uncle's ex-wife, who had been sent to find us.
So we're all assembled, ready for some appropriate, thought provoking scripture or poem and the cult leader who runs my aunt's church, steps up, reading from the burial manual, lots of disjointed phrases. We left not spiritually moved, but damned confused and pissed that we'd driven so far for nothing.
And then I noticed the lay out.
The funeral director had laid the astroturf carpet across my grandparent's graves. People were standing on top of my grandparents! (Not sure about you guys, but I was taught you NEVER walk on a grave). So we've disrespected not only my cousin, but also my grandparents.
I took a private moment to pluck three flowers from the spray of yellow roses I bought ($107!!), laid one on the casket and two across my grandparents' headstone. Others followed suit, plucking my arrangement bare. The children even picked out the greenery!
I had thought we'd get a dignified, service. One like I saw on TV, with the staff caring and considerate of our needs in such a difficult time. I got a Nazi task master.
Even at the graveside he urged us to leave. "There's just 2 hours til dark, and I've got to get him in the ground."
Fisher and Sons should definitely open a franchise.
At my cousin's funeral, there was no kind, caring brother figure to help us with our grief, nor were we allowed the luxury of a last goodbye. Instead, we were ushered like cattle, past the casket and out the doors. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.
Okay, so maybe we were behind schedule and just needed to get the show on the road. Nope. You see, we didn't have a funeral procession. No endless stream of cars, with lights on and a police escort to make sure we arrived en masse at the grave site. We were given a 3 hour lunch break and were told to meet up at the cemetery.
Odd? You betcha. The Old Masonic Cemetery, where my cousin was laid to rest next to my grandparents overlooking the lake, is in Chappel Hill, Texas. That's an hour away on a freeway that is currently under construction. Mid-afternoon. On a Friday. I hadn't been there in 8 years, needless to say, I missed the turn and was well on my way to Washington on the Brazos.
It boggles the mind how one can get the Time Crunch lunch at 12:30 (served in 15 minutes or it's free!) and still be late 2 1/2 hours later, but I have done it.
The family held back the start of the service since neither myself nor my cousin's ex-wife had arrived yet. Twenty minutes later, I ran into my uncle's ex-wife, who had been sent to find us.
So we're all assembled, ready for some appropriate, thought provoking scripture or poem and the cult leader who runs my aunt's church, steps up, reading from the burial manual, lots of disjointed phrases. We left not spiritually moved, but damned confused and pissed that we'd driven so far for nothing.
And then I noticed the lay out.
The funeral director had laid the astroturf carpet across my grandparent's graves. People were standing on top of my grandparents! (Not sure about you guys, but I was taught you NEVER walk on a grave). So we've disrespected not only my cousin, but also my grandparents.
I took a private moment to pluck three flowers from the spray of yellow roses I bought ($107!!), laid one on the casket and two across my grandparents' headstone. Others followed suit, plucking my arrangement bare. The children even picked out the greenery!
I had thought we'd get a dignified, service. One like I saw on TV, with the staff caring and considerate of our needs in such a difficult time. I got a Nazi task master.
Even at the graveside he urged us to leave. "There's just 2 hours til dark, and I've got to get him in the ground."
Fisher and Sons should definitely open a franchise.
posted by TrisaTx at
2:20 PM
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