I hate funerals. I hate them for many reasons. But what has really turned me off on them is my brothers. They blow my mind. Thankfully, this is the last funeral of the older generation we will be involved in, from now on it will be each in our own families. Or in my case, The Neptune Society.
Mom died on Monday, Dad was scheduled for a surgery that couldn’t be put off on Wednesday. Since she was being cremated anyway, we put the memorial service off until Dad could come. Which gave us all a chance to get decent airfare home, too.
My gay brother was in charge of my mother’s memorial service. Mom’s funeral was in our home parish, where my folks had attended for decades. My mom was well known as an organist, and my family was prominent in Catholic circles. So it was that Mom’s funeral Mass was presided over by two priests and a bishop. And each of us had to have a part. My part? I carried the unconsecrated hosts down the altar. As a newly found Pagan, I was sure that lightning would strike me dead on the trip.
This time it’s different. Dad has been in a retirement home far from the home parish for years. So it is that Dad will be buried from my other brother’s home parish. I’m sure nobody will be there but the family and maybe some folks from the retirement home.
At any rate, it was pronounced from on high, and the news came to me, that there can be no recorded music in the church. Also we must not speak of scattering or touching the ashes, or the priest will refuse to do the service. My sister said we would have to mute the slide show if it had music. At which juncture I informed her that if there could be no recorded music, they sure as hell were not going to allow a slide show in the service.
I think my gay brother is in charge of the order of service again, so it will be as elaborate as possible. I will probably be forbidden from bringing Friday to the church, also. I’ll have to fight on that one, although churches are actually the only ones that can refuse to let in a service dog legally. Separation of church and state and all that. To which I have only to say that the Catholic (and Mormon) churches should get the H-E double toothpicks out of politics.
I don’t have black clothes. I look like hell in them, so I don’t have any. Well, actually I do have a black skirt that came to me through one of The Boyo’s pillaging adventures. And one black T-shirt. I can wear this to the funeral, right?
To add to all this joy, Epona stopped dead yesterday, and I had to push her three blocks home. I had a lot of things to do, and ended up in my chair with ice on my knee after that ordeal. I think it’s something simple in the electrical system that The Boyo can fix, like a wire that came off the battery, or a fuse. At any rate he’s coming over on Friday to look at it. At this point either he can fix it, or I bury it. My Dad has a power wheelchair that I will be bringing home with me from the funeral.
Oh, hell, I forgot to ask if I need to brush up on my Latin, too.