Sunday, February 05, 2006
When I was 15, I went to the funeral of a friend of mine who'd committed suicide. His method involved an Amtrak train, so it was understandably closed-casket. Practically the entire town showed up and the church was completely packed when I arrived. It sort of set the bar for my own funeral daydreams.
If I died, would people come? Would they care? Would they say nice things about me, or just gawk? My dead friend was 17; there's something about young death that turns into public morbid curiosity.
When does one cross that threshold? At what age does one need to actually have real friends in order to fill a funeral? I seem to recall hearing a journalist claim his boss insisted on a "cause of death" for the obituary of anyone under 40. Not that I generally read obituaries out of habit, but when I do, I always give more than just a cursory glance at those who died young.
I failed to show up for a rather mundane social event this past week because I just wasn't feeling up to it (this head cold from hell has been kicking my ass for a straight week now). The next day, my friend Michelle called me from work to see if I was okay.
After we chatted and I hung up the phone, I thought, "She'd totally come to my funeral if I died."
Personally, I'm hoping my funeral guest list includes my children, their children, and maybe a great-grandkid or two.
posted by hilary at 5:52 PM |
Links to this post: