The Weirdest Funeral Attendance

Throughout my life, I have attended four funerals; thank goodness for that, because I hate funerals.

The sadness in the air, people moping and crying, greeting each other like the world has ended and we are about to die in the next few moments, just creeps me out, and I never know how to really feel or react.

A room full of people crying just instantly evaporates my happiness and then my throat gets all dry and tight and I feel like bursting out in tears for the apparent reason.

I was eight years old when my uncle died and I attended his funeral, then I was maybe eleven or twelve when my cousin Nina died, and I attended her funeral, then the third funeral I attended was for the grandmother of my high school sweetheart. I happened to be visiting the old neighbourhood and learnt that she had passed away after a long life of 93 years; some of those years I know personally, having met her on a few occasions.

So when my ex asked if I would accompany her to the funeral, I gladly obliged; it’s the least that I could do after not being in touch for so many years.

All three funerals had a few things in common which made them fairly normal. They consisted of the same air of sadness and sorrow, people cried and I felt like crying or probably did, because most importantly, I personally knew the persons who died.

But my fourth funeral attendance is the one that took the cake, the one which caused me to be writing about funerals, in this instance.

My best friend recently informed me of a loss in her family, news that her cousin died sparked funeral arrangements and an invitation.

She hadn’t seen her cousin in years, but I could still see that the news knocked her boots off and that she was not the best of herself. Seeing this, I proposed without thinking, what I believed a best friend should do in a moment like this; so, I offered to accompany her, to the funeral, in the capacity of personal support.

And that’s where the weirdness began. I attended a funeral, for the first time, of someone I didn’t know nor ever met, but then it got even weirder.

“You know those program pamphlets that they give to you at funeral services?” Well, I got one and OMG! and WTF! were all in order, even though, I had to control myself.

Before the funeral, she did mention the cousin’s name, but what the heck, many people have the same first name, it’s a common thing, and maybe throughout all the distress and sadness, my best friend forgot to mention the OMG, WTF factors; at least I could have braced myself.

This funeral service pamphlet bore my first and last name.

Like I said, usually I never knew how to feel at funerals, but this funeral freaked me out, and of course I wondered if I was dead. Throughout the whole service I felt drunk and numb, I doubt if I even heard any of the service; no, that’s not true, around the time when people were reminiscing on moments spent together with this person who had died, it became too surreal for me; I am sure that I blacked out for a moment.

But I just had to see who was in that coffin, so when all were invited to show their last respect by viewing, I took that as my opportunity to see who was laying there. “Could it be me, am I dead?” were the questions in my head as I approached the coffin, but it turned out to be a stranger, to me, seemingly peacefully asleep, who happened to have my exact name.

Suicide

Thirteen years ago, I committed suicide; yes, I killed myself. I know you are saying, “Huh, did I just read right?” but yes you did; I said that I committed suicide thirteen years ago. Now you are asking yourself, “If that is a fact, then who the BLEEP is writing the blog?”

I can answer that for you, “A ghost!”

Now you are about to lose interest in the blog, because what you have read, so far, doesn’t make any sense, but trust me, it’s true and it makes a whole lot of sense; you’ll see, just read on.

As a teenager, I hated the world I was born into; but then again, the world did nothing to me, so it wasn’t the world that was my problem, it was my so-called family and extended relatives. They possessed nothing that justified the true definition of family and relatives, other than sharing the same blood line, but apart from that, “with family like that, who needs enemies” would be a suitable quote for them.

And after years of realizing that that was going to be the permanent trait of my family, and that a chance of them embracing and displaying love and loyalty among each other, was less than zero percent, I began contemplating suicide.

Interestingly, my thoughts possessed no fear of leaving them behind, as a matter of fact, I was more than certain that it was the right decision, and even though I was a million miles away from the USA in September of 2001, a time when the world experienced one of its greatest losses, seemed the ideal time for me to have made my exit, and that was when I did it; that’s when I committed suicide.

The way I saw it was that my family and extended relatives cared so little about me that they knew nothing of my whereabouts and by the time that they would actually realized that I was no longer around, the timeframe would reflect around that year or month and they would have known that I died.

It was a sad time for the world, a sad time for families who actually cared about their love ones, and it was going to be a lengthy period of mourning.

I was just as sad for them as I was of my decision; if only their love ones could have miraculously appeared a few minutes, hours or days later, with a victorious story of it being only a close shave or minor injuries, but not death, not forever gone and only if miraculously, my family would have cared about me and tried to contact me, wanting to know if I was ok or alive, since the world had just suffered one of its greatest hurt.

But as usual, no one tried and that’s when I took my last breath and jumped.

I went to the City Hall and legally changed my name, it was simpler and easier than I had imagined, so I took it as a sign of fate, then a week later, I went to fulfill my plastic surgery appointment to receive my new face, and six weeks later after unwrapping the bandages in front of my bathroom mirror, I too was convince that the former me was officially dead.