rituals

Back from the funeral trip, safe and sound.

I have this awful habit of thinking/saying/doing the wrong thing at funerals.  It's a coping method.  I don't act up or out or anything, it's just that my brain fires off these things that I know are going to get me sent straight to hell.

Thing one:
The pastor (reverend?  minister?  I'm not sure what he was or what to call those people.  I think there is a difference, but I'm not too sure.  I don't think he is a priest, because he is Methodist.  But maybe Methodists have priests.  I don't know.) opened his speech (eulogy? sermon?) by placing his hand on the casket (coffin?) and saying:
"Dyyyiiinng..."
Those dots represent a five second silence, which I filled up by whispering:
 "is wot bwings us togedda, todaay."
 I mean seriously, dude.  Really?  You start off by saying "dying"?  Not "welcome"?  Or "hello"? Or "Sara"?  Or one thousand other things?  I think he was going for drama.

Lame.

Then there is the part at the graveyard where we all do Psalms 23 and when we get to the part that says
"Yea, though I walk
       through the valley of the shadow of death"
 I turn to the person next to me and raise my eyebrows and do some subtle jazz hands and say:
"YAY!, though I walk..."
It's funny.  To me.  And apparently my brother.
Funny makes me feel better when I'm not feeling so good.

Oh, and then the ashes to ashes poem.  That's a poem, you know.  Not a Bible verse.
When the pastor says the ashes to ashes, my brain sings "Funk to funky.  We know Major Tom's a junkie", so there I am, looking at the box that holds my grandmother, thinking about drugs and androgyny and men wearing make up and then I started wondering if any of the men there had ever worn make up or shot heroin or maybe tried on their girlfriend's underpants just for kicks.  You know, when he was drunk and just pretending it was a joke.  Then I wondered if my grandma ever saw a man dressed up like a woman in real life or what she would think if she knew I logged some major minutes in front of Thai Tranny porn.  It's not that I'm turned on by that sort of stuff, it's just that it's really super interesting to see a beautiful man with breasts or a halfdone woman with a penis or whatever it is that I'm looking at and I can't seem to look away no matter how hard I try.

Hell.

Then it's all over and my brother and I got back in the limo to go get the car at the funeral home and it's just me and him and the reverend (did I mention that the reverend got put in the kid's limo?  I'm sure that was probably intentional) and I said, aloud, before thinking, "oh hey! this is just like a Southern prom!  Me, my brother, the minister, and a limo!".  And then I tried to back track by saying something about him marrying us after the dance and that was all wrong so then I just stopped talking.

And folded my hands so the minister/reverend/pastor would think that I was praying.