The funeral for my grandmother was yesterday, which was a drive up to Northern California. She was laid to rest about five miles east of Clear Lake, in a town called Colusa. I’ve been to funerals before, though in my lifetime, this is only the fourth. I tend to avoid them if I can, but as this was my father’s mother, there was very little I could do to accomplish that. It’s not so much about refusing to pay my respects, I just feel that the person to whom you should really be paying your respect to isn’t really going anywhere. When you’re part of the semi-immediate family, though, it’s a little different. I absolutely hate that area of California, though. I’ve never liked visiting it because of the sheer amount of cowpoke-ness and flatlands, coupled with amazingly hot days and nights. My father grew up there and he loves the country, but I’m a city boy, through and through.
Anyway, the service was similar to my grandfather’s, though I was a lot younger back then and it’s all a little hazy. I remember speaking at the funeral, though. This time, I did not feel like putting myself up on the podium to say anything. My father and my cousin did. My cousin went first, and instead of performing a eulogy as expected, he began preaching about how beautiful Jesus was and how it was necessary for everyone to accept Jesus into their heart and follow him into his congregation. He’s a protestant minister of some sort, and I’m really happy he has such an amazing passion for something other than drugs and alcohol like he used to, but the funeral was neither a time or place appropriate to hold a membership drive. Needless to say that it enraged and upset a lot of people, and one of my aunts left the church outright, unable to withstand his words in the face of her own grief. My father went up afterward and gave a very emotional eulogy about his mother, and it seemed to smooth over the day. Not to mention, he was preaching to a family of mostly Catholics, in a Catholic church, with the priest standing right behind him. Above and beyond the initial faux paus, let’s talk about a lack of courtesy for the church as well.
At the end of the day, though, I was just emotionally and physically exhausted. I slept on the way home while my mother drove my car. I just was really happy when I could close my eyes and end the day so it would be tomorrow.
