Oh, Funeral Guy. You tried so hard.
The funeral is over, so there's that.
Oh, also? I'm such an ass. I really am. But a public declaration of this fact will not prevent me from being an ass on any future occasion.
The day after my father died, my sister Julie and I went to a funeral home to make arrangements. Our family had already decided on cremation with interment of the ashes at a later date. But there were still a lot of arrangements that had to be made because there would be a funeral Mass at my parents' church and the ashes had to be in the church during the funeral Mass, which meant we needed to rent a ceremonial casket, blah blah blah.
Julie was all mature and friendly, but business-like, with Funeral Guy. I was all cynical and suspicious and "Hell no, we don't need that crap!" We sat at a highly polished table in a tastefully decorated room and Funeral Guy quickly learned to avoid eye contact with me, what with the eye-rolling and glaring.
At one point, I had to call my brother to ask a question about how many death certificates we would need to order. I told my brother that Funeral Guy was asking about how many bank accounts our dad had (because you need separate death certs for all the financial institutions). And my brother, who also has a streak of The Suspicion, said loudly, "He wants to know about the bank accounts? Very clever. FUCK THAT. Tell him we need 20 death certificates."
I put down my phone, laughing helplessly and saying, "That was the funniest thing I've heard all day. Um. My brother says we need 20."
And then whispered to Julie, "Do you think he could hear that?"
Julie might have been getting annoyed with me at this point, but I hope she doesn't hold it against me. She has a very forgiving nature.
Later we had to go into the showroom to pick out the urn. Julie and I instantly agreed on the plainest and least expensive urn.
Funeral Guy sighed and said, "Well, if that's what you want."
Really, Funeral Guy? REALLY?
Honestly, I have nothing against morticians or funeral directors. It's a business, I understand that. A sales business. I suppose there are plenty of people who don't mind spending $10,000 on the casket that will cradle their loved one for eternity, or $800 for a brass urn to hold ashes. But there are other people who think that is foolish. I resented Funeral Guy's effort to shame us into buying the more expensive urn for the ashes. I think a good salesperson reads his clients and then does his best to meet their needs without betraying disappointment at their cheap-ass selections. Especially in a sales business that concerns such emotionally charged circumstances.
Later, I nixed Funeral Guy's suggestion that he would handle placing the death notice in the paper (for a fee).
"There's no mystery about the death notice," I snapped. "We'll do that."
Funeral Guy tried to sell us a guest book sign-in, which included pages to keep track of who had sent flowers or cooked meals to make thank you notes easier.
"We'll take care of that," said I, crisply.
Of course, we totally forgot about the guest book and now we have no fucking idea who was at the funeral. Our list of people who sent flowers or meals is on at least 3 separate pieces of paper on the dining room table at my mother's house. I predict those lists will be accidentally thrown away any minute now. I kinda wish we had bought Funeral Guy's guest book.
Later, when I complained about Funeral Guy, Julie said mildly, "Yes. He's the villain here."
And I realized what an ass I am.
Then again, anger IS one of the stages of grief, right? It comes right before the eating stage of grief, which is where I am now. Wouldn't it be great if there were an exercise and healthy eating stage of grief?
Next time, I promise I will be mature and will try to employ a filter before I speak. I will try not to roll my eyes when the Funeral Guy speaks. I might even forgo sneakily taking pictures and then writing a blog post about him. But I can't promise that I won't laugh my ass off when my brother says, "FUCK THAT" for the whole room to hear.
Next Entry: How my mom is doing.