Monday, January 12, 2009

Funeral for a Friend

I can't in all fairness claim the honor of being a friend to the woman whose funeral I attended Saturday. I wish I'd had the honor. I knew her from a couple of places--the church where my daughter occasionally attends youth group activities and the stable where our daughters ride. I barely knew her but wish I'd made the time to make the effort now that she's gone.

Not that she needed my friendship. She had a fabulous network of friends, family, and coworkers to keep her occupied. Whenever I saw her, she was generally with her jolly hulk of a husband, silent in his shadow yet not overshadowed. She had a beautiful smile and an outgoing personality. Together, they were radiant. Add her 14-year-old daughter, and they were the perfect nuclear family, miraculous and happy despite inevitable blemishes.

She was struck with a brain aneurysm just before Christmas and went into a coma Christmas Eve. Her family mercifully decided to remove her from life support a few days later. Her exit was very sudden in the grand scheme of things, and this naturally gives me pause. She was about my age, with an adoring husband and beautiful daughter. Sound familiar?

I lost both parents with less than a month's notification, so I'm no stranger to this sort of thing. Nevertheless, her passing shook me profoundly. It could have been me. It could have been my husband. It could have been my best friend or my wonderful, stressed-out neighbor across the street. Life is so valuable yet so fragile. I can't control it, so I have to close my eyes, hold on, and enjoy it.

Her funeral did, however, make me decide a few shallow things for myself:

1. At my funeral, please show pictures of me like they did at my friend's. Only PLEASE Photoshop them so I look thin. My friend always looked great, but I couldn't help thinking there were probably pictures up on the screen that she wouldn't have approved of. Women are just like that.

2. Please show up for my funeral! For hers, they practically lined up outside in the cold to pay their respects, but I'm afraid that if they threw a funeral for me, no one would come. (Someone I mentioned this to suggested that my obituary should mention that doughnuts will be served. That should help.)

3. If you're my friend and you decide to speak, please don't tell any drunk stories. Anyone who doesn't already know them doesn't need to know. And whatever you do, please don't mention He Who Shall Not Be Named. I'm not sure restraining orders are valid after someone's death, but I don't want to find out the hard way.

4. I have some music I want played, and I'm pretty firm on this. The Lachrymosa from Mozart's Requiem would be cool and creepy, but hey, I'm realistic. I would for you to play "Find the River" by REM because they always play that for dead friends. I'm not their friend, but they played it for my old pal John Seawright, who, coincidentally, died of a brain aneurysm when he was my age. And I absolutely INSIST that at the end of the service, before the doughnuts are served, everyone join in a rousing sing-along of Monty Python's "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life." This is not negotiable.

5. I want to be a diamond.