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Done.

For those wondering, I did make it to the funeral, although I wasn't sure I was going to at first, after waking up (after 2 hours of sleep) with a case of the screaming nerves. Managed to get myself in hand enough to go though, and sat in the back, although I was "supposed" to sit up front with my father and all that. I don't know if I'd have made it through the service, as on edge as I was by that point, with everyone staring at my back and everything.

Then I was going to go home without going to the cemetary, but everyone going out was like "oh, aren't you going? Are you SURE? It's your mother, are you sure you don't want to go?" and at the last minute I got into the limousine to ride up. BIG mistake. Huge mistake. Never ever make impulse decisions on very little sleep, low food, under tons of stress, because people are trying to push you into it against your better judgement. I broke down a bit, ended up making a slight scene out at the cemetary saying I just wanted to go home and crying until I ended up having to go sit out in the limousine, and then finally we got to go home. I don't know what snapped - I was exhausted, I just couldn't take it anymore, I so much wanted to be home. Not to mention that everyone had to be so damned touchy- feely "pat pat you okay? pat pat"

It's not even like I missed anything, or would have had I just gone straight home, as it was literally less than 5 minutes' worth of the preacher speaking beside the casket, at the mausoleum, since the ground is too wet right now (or something) for digging, so she's not even being buried today.

So now I'm home, and already feeling much better, although obviously still dead tired and a bit edgy. I'm not sure if I'm going to try to sleep now, or hold off til night to try to get a decent sleep cycle going, or what. I guess I should eat, although me and food on a lack of sleep don't mix well usually.

Oh, and the preacher should really really really brush up on his speachifying skills, honestly. Y'know those form letters where you fill in the name, and it's really really blatant and throws you off, while the letter tries to be "personalized" but fails miserably because it so obviously throws in the name scattered here and there, with the underline included? That's what his eulogy sounded like, every time he said the name "Sharon." It was like you could practically hear the underline in his voice. He could have said "insert name here" for as much effect.

Then there was the content, which... I guess my father gave him info, and I guess I really should have got myself together enough to chip in on that, because while some of it was on, some of it was way way off. Like talking about how she loved to travel (she pretty much needed to be dragged kicking and screaming to go visit far-off family), or how she loved the outdoors (really? Since when?) or how she used to bowl in both 10-pin and duckpin leagues (which she may have, fair enough, but it was long enough ago that I can't recall it in my active memory, and I'm 31).

And then there was his lovely comparison about how she was like a cloud that drifts across the sun, bringing us shade, relief, yadda yadda, then drifts away and she's gone. Great. So my mother's like a cloud blocking the sun. Lovely. Thanks for the parting thoughts there, pal.

In a way I guess it made it easier to get through - I didn't have to be hurt even further having her vividly brought back to mind, and I could at least occupy my mind with critiquing his eulogy as he gave it, helping me get through the funeral (which really really should have done it for me, I was a fool to let myself be pressured into a situation I couldn't handle after, honestly. But tired, not in best of decision-making modes, etc.)

I'm just glad it's all over.

Comments

( 2 Notes — Write a Footnote )
adamjury
Mar. 18th, 2006 09:44 pm (UTC)
*big squeezes*

I'm glad to hear that the difficult social stuff is more or less finished with.
khaman
Mar. 19th, 2006 02:57 am (UTC)
Which is the best part - having it finally be OVER.

That said, even though they mean well, I will forever desire to smack people who ask 'are you okay?' during things like that, because, well, FUCKING JESUS DUH. What do you think?

I do have an amusing story about being screwed out of a visit to a grief counselor when I actually needed one, but we'll save that for some other time.

Meanwhile, have more hugs. *hug*
( 2 Notes — Write a Footnote )