I have a funeral to go to tomorrow.
Funerals are always a good time, right? I love me a good funeral. I mean, who doesn’t love a good funeral?
The last funeral I attended was my father’s and even that was a good time. (Okay. I’m lying. That’s not true. Actually, it was the farthest thing from a good time. It was pretty much the worst thing ever.)
I’m not very good with funerals. Then again, who is? The whole “death” thing used to really get to me. And by “get to me” I mean I’d have full-blown panic attacks which resulted in me curled up in the fetal position on the floor at the mere thought of it. But, then when I actually had to face it for the first time as an adult and not some young child or adolescent who had never really processed the whole thing, it got a little easier. You know, as easy as death can get.
Still, I’m not a big fan of funerals, and tomorrow I have to go to one. Alone.
Friends have offered to bring me with them, but the only thing worse than going alone is going as a third wheel. (Seriously. Is there anything worse than a third wheel? I don’t think so. Not only are you relegated to the back seat of the car like a small child, but you’re also tagging along with the couple like a small child and it’s… just… awkward.) So, I’m going alone. I’m gonna be all brave-like. I mean, how hard can it actually be? You go, you sit there, you give a few hugs, you leave… right? I mean… it’s not some complicated process. Uncomfortable? Sure. Complicated? Not so much. I mean, if I can handle 3rd grade hoodlums for 8 hours I can handle sitting by myself during a funeral for 1 hour… right?
I mean, RIGHT?!
(Okay, here’s where you give me a pep talk and tell me everything is going to be okay. And….. GO!)