I'd settle for glowing red eyes.
I think that'd be as least as tasteful as the jingoistic proselytism I've had to witness at several funerals over the past couple years. “Christians die better than other people.” “Raise your HAND if you want to be SAVED!” Feh.
Kathryn Parente's funeral this morning had none of that. It was beautiful and touching and, importantly, respectful. I think I only met jezebellydancer's mother once, long ago (and bought part of an antique bread knife from her), but never really got to know her. But I feel, after this service, that I have, in some small way, come to know her. We heard stories, snapshots of a life as it was lived, not just a list of accomplishments and good deeds. And I'm thankful to jezebellydancer for inviting us to share in this.
And it's got me thinking about what I might want to see at my funeral. Y'know, if the laser eye thing doesn't work out.
What I want is stories.
I'd like people to gather somewhere, in a sort of Quaker-like fashion, and take a few minutes to tell stories – stories that are snapshots of a life lived. Stories that would make me blush with pride, and irreverent stories that'd make me blush with embarrassment. If my mom is there, she'd probably manage a way to do that without any prompting. If she's not, it's gotta fall to someone else. Tell stories that make people laugh. Tell stories that speak Truth, but are also outrageous, scandalous lies, works of grandiose and scatalogical fiction that make even the delusions of Baron Munchausen pale in comparison.
Lie until there's not a single unsmiling face in the place.