I recently went to a funeral viewing. Whenever I attend a service for the deceased I ponder how I’d want my own final arrangements to proceed. I have blogged here about what a traditional Italian funeral viewing is like. Not my idea of fun. Way too quiet.
I want people to talk. To share what they liked about me. Or didn’t like about me. I want people to get up and say that they thought I was a totally cool babe, or, a completely psychotic bitch. I want my secret lovers to profess their everlasting devotion. I want my enemies to come up and spit on my coffin. I want my friends to tell stories of drunken nights. I want my family to recount tales of scraped knees, book reports and high school awards.
I want all the unsaid words to finally be said. I want people to walk away feeling that when my body is lowered into the ground, that they’ve made their peace with me, in whatever way they needed to. I want them to know that whatever it was that tied us together, good, bad or otherwise, it can now be released into the ether and that, in the end, we are all free.
Shit, this sounds like some party. Are you busy?