My Father Died - Funeral Fun!

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

Hi, all. My father, the best father anyone can wish or dream for, has passed away. I’ve been reading and hardly participating in threads due to this.

He’ll be buried with US Army Military awards, survived by my mother (56+ years of marriage) me, my two sisters, brother and son in law. I am beyond sad, depressed, etc.

BUT… we’ve got a funeral to deal with, which seems to be the equivalent of a wedding, but without the details of hell. It’d be easier to deal with a prom for Paris Hilton at this point.

We have the funeral/Viewing soon. My questions are: Any advice? Or any funny funeral stories to share? I’m afraid I’ll fall in another unmarked and muddy grave being a pallbearer. (:D)

So please, cheer me up with some anecdotes of funeral faux pas. That’d be perfect right now. Or any good advice you can give. Let’s put the “F-U-N” back in Funeral!

2

Locrian, I’m sorry your father has passed. My condolences to you and your family.

My own father passed away in 1975 at the age of 59. My mother passed away last year, 97 years old. During her funeral, I found out that we had left our pastor at the cemetery at our father’s funeral without a way to get home. Oops!

(It’s not all that funny, but it’s all I got.)

3

Ugh! The poor pastor. I imagine my family doing just that this week. :smiley:

4

The Nephew was 3yo when his maternal grandfather passed. Joe and his wife had been living with my brother and his wife since Joe got diagnosed with ALS; they were a daily part of the child’s life.

One of Joe’s sisters, Maggie, is one of those women which I blame for fear of clowns. The woman does her best to keep the carminic acid and rhinestones industries in business. Her idea of subtle makeup involves limiting herself to two different eyeshadows. Her daughter is the loudest person in the room so long as Maggie herself isn’t there; they tend to feed each other.

The Nephew had been dutifully receiving everybody’s condolences and kissing everybody. At one point, he said “no more kisses”. His father asked “what do you mean, no more kisses?” “The kisses factory is closed!” Noticing the child’s terrified tones and that he was looking at something out of the side of his eyes, his father followed the look. “Ah. I see. No more kisses.”

Having been made to feel like an almost-empty toothpaste tube by that pink tank’s hugs despite being much larger than The Nephew was back then, I totally agree with his manufacturing troubles. My family now uses “the kisses factory closed up” as shorthand for “I met one of those people.”

5

My dad died in 2002. There were 2 evenings of visitation to accommodate everyone, since dad had a wide circle of friends and associates. Naturally, the whole family was there the entire time.

At one point, my youngest sister (37 at the time) was getting a bit punchy. The subject of what Dad was wearing came up (his tux and some Knights of Columbus accessories.) Sis said she’d wanted to get him a t-shirt that looked like a tuxedo and a badge that said “I died and all I got was this lousy t-shirt!”

It was just the sort of irreverent thing my dad would have said. And it was a much-needed bit of silliness for the rest of us.

6

Advice: Depending on how close your were with him, and by the post, I’m assuming on good terms, give yourself a couple of days after the funeral to veg out. No responsibilities, nothing to do except eat and tend to Mother Nature’s calls. When my mother died, I had an emotional meltdown the day after the funeral while I was driving home from the grocery store, nearly causing a multicar wreck. Let it happen, but make sure you’re in a benign environment when it comes.

Funny story: Mom was a big fan of naughty nursery rhymes, and her favorite was,
Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
how does your garden grow?

With silver bells
and cockle shells,
and one goddamned tulip.

Several of her flower arrangements had a single tulip in them, as well as her headstone.

7

Locrian, my condolences to you and your family as well.

I don’t have any personal funny funeral stories to share, so here’s a little vid from the Mary Tyler Moore Show, where Mary loses it at the funeral of Chuckles the Clown.

8

Locrian, I’m so sorry for your loss. Is he to be buried at Arlington? Have you done the research to see what he may be entitled to?

Not that I know personally, but I’ve been told there’s damn little paperwork needed by soldiers to comply with the direct orders of an operation.
But if you die, they’ll LITERALLY KILL your spouse with the paperwork…

9

Been through this with my Dad and both in-laws who I was very close to. My deepest sympathy. The next few days will be a blur and you will be numb through a lot of it; ride that and enjoy it. When the reality totally sinks in (often around something like his next birthday, anniversary or holiday) is when some serious pain and depression can set in.

As for advice – if the funeral director didn’t already mention it, show up about a half hour before the actual viewing starts. That way you get over the worst of your shock and tears before everyone else starts arriving. Sounds small and silly but it really helps.

As for funny stories ------ the one that comes to mind is my Uncle Kopek. I was named for him and we were always close. He did 30 years with the Air Force (starting as a “Brown Shoe” USAAC) and another 30 as a civilian advisor/weapons tech. Even his own siblings called him “Sarge” to the day he died and after. All he wanted was a military send-off especially since he was going to be buried in a state veterans cemetery. We contacted Dover and after some prodding (we went through his address book and called in some top-ranking Generals he had known and helped over the years) he didn’t just get a squad but the top-ranked honor guard for the whole damn base.

As I was standing there, the young sergeant (he looked about 14 years old) running the detachment came over and asked who could speak for the family in the matter or making decisions. Uncle had never married so I told him that within the family it came down to me and my one cousin who I called over. The young man then asked if they could video the ceremony so that it could be used for training purposes. My cousin and I looked at each other and burst out LAUGHING! I mean struggling for breath laughing. We assured the confused kid that it would be no problem at all; that we assured him it would actually be an honor more than anything.

As he walked away my cousin asked “You thinking what I’m thinking?” And I replied “Yeah – I can hear Sarge even now saying My last hour above ground and the Air Force still needs me to help get these kids squared away. SHEESH!”

Its something we still laugh about at reunions.

10

I’m very sorry for your loss.

I posted this in another thread a few years ago:

My grandfather’s wake was held at a local funeral home. Between children and spouses, grandchildren, colleagues, friends, family of friends, friends of family, there were a lot of people passing through. I was catching up with some siblings and cousins while keeping half an eye on the receiving line in case someone I knew should pass by. I noticed a woman enter dressed all in black. I noticed her not because of the black (although her garments were not what I would call a somber cut), but because she was heavily accesorized with a good deal of large (I presume) cubic zircona accoutrements, including a reasonably large and blingie hairband. Also, she was pushing a pram.

As she passed by in line, I peeked inside the old-fashioned stroller and saw a little black dog. It was decked out in a small red chiffon princess dress with a sash, and wore a cz-studded collar that sort of matched its owner’s blingie hairband. The dog showed no interest in any of its surrounding; I think it was overcome with embarrassment.

The owner and the pram proceeded past my grandfather’s casket and along the receiving line. They paid their respects. My grandmother is unflappable; she did not appear flapped.

The funeral home staff apologized to us later. They said when the woman had brought the dog in, it had been wearing a Service Vest, so they allowed it. Apparently the owner (the spouse of the son of longtime family friends) removed the vest as soon as they got inside, so as not to clash with the red chiffon dress.

11

I suggest somehow publicizing the viewing in a venue where some of your dad’s old friends might see it.

We did this with my dad, and several of his old friends who none of us had ever heard of showed up and told a bunch of stories we’d also never heard before. It turned out what promised to be a terribly depressing affair into something almost joyful.

I knew, for instance, that my dad was a marathon runner in his youth in Ireland, and that he came in fourth place in their national marathon one year. I didn’t know that he ran nearly 10 miles in darkness to get to the start of the race on time, and that after the race he walked home another 10 miles because he couldn’t afford a hotel room.

There were all kinds of things like this that emerged, completely unexpectedly.

12

I’m so sorry about your dad, Locrian.

I also had an unexpected experience kind of like Boyo Jim’s but it was at the gathering after the funeral. Three of my dad’s work buddies took me aside, sat me down and proceeded to tell funny stories about him from work and/or business trips. One was from the early sixties when my dad wore some kind of hair grease or cream. They were at a hotel on a business trip and my dad’s hair cream had apparently stripped the varnish off part of the headboard. I don’t remember what they did about it but apparently it was good for jokes for quite a long time.

I don’t know why those guys did that but it meant a lot to me. I was a very young 24 when my dad died at 57 and it shattered my world.

Another thing that wasn’t funny at the time but my Mom and I find it hilarious now. My dad always wanted a closed casket funeral because he didn’t want people gawking. Almost immediately after he died I was supposed to call the funeral home to be sure that his casket was in a “slumber room” before visiting. When I called I guess I asked if he was ready for us to come “see” him, not realizing what this might mean. When we got there the casket was open. I guess I went screaming “It’s open! It’s open!” down the hall at the funeral home. I don’t remember a whole lot about it. The shock of my dad dying and seeing my first actual Dead Person made me freak I guess. But did those funeral home people ever jump. They probably hadn’t moved that fast in years. On the way home my mom and I agreed my dad had looked really good.

13

When my dad passed beyond the Rim, it was at the end of a year and a half long illness. It was no secret, and all of his friends had visited in the last months, and my Mom had had enough. No wake, no funeral. But we did say goodby in a manor he would have enjoyed. After being cremated, we prevailed upon one of my cousins wife to take us out to Hull Gut on a running tide. Now the man lived and loved his regular coffee. He had visited most of the Dunkin Donuts south of Boston. So it is fitting that we poured some of his ashes into Massachusetts Bay via DD coffee cups.

He would have smiled.

Of course, that is not the end of the story–he is still [what is left of the cremains] guarding the Bank of Folgers–The coffee can in the closet my mom stashes her money in:cool:

14

So sorry about your father.

My grandparents’ church was funny about open-casket funerals. They seemed to think that if you had a closed casket, you clearly had something shameful to hide. I didn’t think to ask their opinion of cremation. Probably for the best.

So as we’re sitting there trying to reconcile the apparent mix-up of the overly-painted madam from the Worst Little Whorehouse in Ottawa, KS, who’s in the coffin with the grandmother we knew, my mom leaned over and whispered, “You make sure my coffin is NAILED shut, if you have to, or I’ll come back and haunt you.”

And then we both got the giggles.

15

My grandmother died a while back. At the funeral when the coffin was lowered into the ground, it broke open when it hit the bottom of the hole (if I recall correctly the lowering mechanism wasn’t running smoothly so it jerked down the last couple of feet). This was a Jewish funeral so the coffin is a simple wooden box with no metal fasteners, maybe it wasn’t well-built.

Anyhow, Bubie wrapped in her burial cloth fell partially out of the side and was visible lying down there. A Jewish tradition is that everyone helps shovel dirt into the grave and my dad’s cousin was one of the first in line. He looked down and said “She just had to come out and see what all the fuss is about.”

16

Locrian, I’m sorry for your loss. It hurts like hell for a while, but the wound scabs over, even if something picks at it once in a while. That tshirt idea sounds cool!

At the lunch after the funeral and committal those present were invited to tell stories about their memories of my father. I told a story that I don’t remember but it happened to me, and illustrated the clever kind of guy my dad was.

See, when I was about four I was put in Sunday School. I’m told that I, the current soul of respectibility, was acting up and being bad, so mt father was summoned. Now, he could have whacked me and told me I was going to Sunday School wheter I liked it or not, thereby setting me up for a lot of religious resentment. But instead he said "Okay, you don’t have to go. In fact, I’m not going to let you go. You’ll never get to do the fun things the other kids do, or be in the Christmas program and get the candy afterwards. But no, you don’t have to go to Sunday school. Apparently, after that, I wanted to go. Dad was good at reverse psychology.

17

Did you mean that you left the pastor at your father’s GRAVE?

41 years is one awfully long funeral. :stuck_out_tongue:

18

Upon reading the guest book after we got home, there was one name we didn’t recognize. We spent days wracking our brains but were never able to determine who this woman was. Therefore, we decided she must be a Professional Funeral Goer.

19

Locrian, my condolences on your loss.

I have told these stories before, but here they are again, since I doubt anyone remembers.

During the eulogy for my wife, I told a cute story about something she did when we were first dating. (We were watching a video at home eating popcorn, and I asked her to put more butter on it, so she took the popcorn bowl into the kitchen and came back a few minutes later holding a butter knife with a big clubhead of popcorn stuck to it, saying “The butter won’t melt when I try to spread it.”) It was just a silly thing and was the result of a cultural misunderstanding (being Japanese she had never made popcorn at home), and only a mean-spirited person would think it made her look stupid. However, she had a tremendous amount of pride, so when I jokingly told her at the time that I couldn’t wait to tell my family about this cute, silly thing she did (we lived in Japan, and my family hadn’t yet had an opportunity to meet her), she let me know in no uncertain terms that I was not to tell anyone. I kept that promise, although I really thought it was a cute thing and nothing to be ashamed of.

Well, it was a humorous, cute story and at the funeral I felt I was released from my promise not to tell and I knew that the people in attendance would get a chuckle out of it, so I told the story. I told the story in full, including her admonition that I not tell anyone.

When I told the story at her funeral, I quoted her admonishment to me exactly. In the story, I said, “Oh, that’s so cute! I can’t wait to tell my family!” and my wife replied, “Over my dead body!”

Three days after the funeral, I realized I had done just that…I had told the story over her dead body. I was mortified (ha!) to think that people in attendance might have thought that that was why I told the story (“Here I am, telling the story over her dead body, hurr, hurr, hurr!”), when I just intended it as a cute story and never thought about the literal meaning of “over my dead body.”

The second thing was at the cemetery. After the casket was lowered into the concrete liner in the ground, one of the staff whispered in my ear, “Do you want to have everyone leave now, or do you want to wait and watch while they bury the casket?” I imagined a tasteful shoveling of dirt like you might see in the movies, and I didn’t want to leave my wife yet, so I said we would wait while they buried the casket. The staff member went away and then the next thing I know there is a small truck backing up next to the grave site (“beep! beep! beep! beep!”) and then a dumping of a cubic yard or two of white gravel into the grave in a swirling cloud of dust. Suddenly, what had been a beautiful, moving funeral had turned into a construction jobsite. After a few moments, I realized “Standing here watching this isn’t going to make it any better” and so I finally just walked away with my children and everyone else left, too, I am sure with a great deal of relief.

20

Sorry to hear about your father’s passing.

My father passed a few months ago, and we did a remembrance about 2 months after that, which was just a wonderful event with tons of extended family and friends (if only my father was actually there to enjoy it himself could it have been better).

My only two cents is to talk to the US Army representatives that will be in attendance. In my father’s case and the only experience I have, two active duty soldiers in dress uniforms arrived about two hours early. I spoke with them because my father had been Army MP combat, and it would have meant a lot to my father that the representatives were combat veterans. Turned out that both were Iraq combat vets, both had been MPs, and one was still an active duty MP. So, if you’re father’s Army service had some special meaning, the Army may be able to accommodate a special request if you have one.

Second, the unfolding, folding and presention of the flag to the surviving family will leave not a dry eye in the house. I won’t give spoilers in case you’ve never experienced this or want to have it be completely new (you can search if you want a spoiler). It is incredibly moving.