And When I Die…

I went to a funeral last week, and will be attending another one this week. They will be starkly different in the number of attendees and many other ways, some important, some not.

The contrast has me thinking about what I’d like–and what I’d not like–at my funeral. Now, any of you who survive me are totally free to disregard any and all of these requests since I won’t be there. I’m just trying to make things a little easier for you when I go, which I hope will be a long time from now.

• I would like to have a Mass, celebrated by at least one priest who actually knew me.
• I would not like said priest or anyone else to go through a litany of what songs or movies were popular the year I was born or graduated from high school or college.
• In the same vein, I would really dislike it if anyone yammered on about the changes I saw in my life, such as the coming of the computers and the Internet, the fall of communism, Bob Seger cutting his hair or Neil Diamond and so many others losing their singing voices as they aged. Talk about me, not my world.
• I would like there to be at least fifty people there. Hire a few if you need to.
• I would like to have yellow and white roses that can be taken to a nursing home or hospital afterward. If that’s not possible, just skip the flowers. It’ll be okay.
• I would like to have someone who’s really funny, like Patricia Lorenz, give a eulogy. Those of you who don’t know Pat in person should come just for that show. Pat, you are encouraged to wear your cheesehead hat and goofy glasses and teeth.
• I would like to have someone who has a great laugh, like Lora Zill, sit in the front row and roar at the jokes. Lora, you are welcome to pound the pew because you’re laughing so hard.
• I don’t much care what you do about a wake, but I don’t want a reception at the church afterward. I’ll leave enough money for you all to have a blowout with food and alcohol flowing at one of my favorite restaurants.
• I hope that when you speak of me, you’ll laugh and shake your heads a little about my quirks, like my fear of driving over bridges. I hope you’ll also remember my strength in some of the challenging situations I faced… and that I loved you very much.