I’ve always had some kind of sick curiosity for funerals. I haven’t been to a lot of them, and in the normal sense that’s a good thing. I don’t really want anyone close to me dying just so I get to go to their funeral, but I still think there’s some magical tragedy involved in it. There’s something about remembering someone who’s not there anymore that just seems fantastically melancholic. Actually, I think I have just been to one funeral. One of my friend’s grandfather died. Although it was not at all like I figured my first funeral to be like. It wasn’t in a graveyard, but in a church, and there were so many people there. Just…so many people. You could tell he was someone important to the community. A choir sang requiems and they read aloud all the organizations he had been involved in. Then they put his ashes in the basement of the church, with his other loved ones I guess.
My dead relatives have all been cremated. Both my grandfathers have been cremated, and sine they lived far away I didn’t get to attend their funeral. I don’t really know if I would have wanted to. Maybe that’s why I don’t want to be cremated. I don’t care about space or coffin costs or anything like that. When the time comes I hope to be able to pay for my own funeral. I just want a small funeral with family and still living friends. Maybe even some food and a band playing. This connects nicely with my obsession to be different.