Who will go to my Funeral?

09 May

Sometimes I wonder who will go to my funeral. Who will be sad and mourn over my passing, and who will shrug in indifference. To whom have I reached in a way that, in death, I will live on through something I did that inspired someone, anyone, to be better? To whom have a vexed in a way that, at my funeral, they attend only for confirmation of my untimely demise?

It’s a thought I would imagine everyone has from time to time. Then again, the things I imagine have never been deemed typical in any regard. My mind is filled with thoughts running rampant, wild. The things I dream up are completely nonsensical, and yet I dream them over and over. My subconscious can, apparently, sort it all out well enough to play it back a second and third time. Consciously, though, I can never quite seem to piece it together. Its impossible to recall what comes next in such a dream when what comes next is simply, impossible.

However, this all brings me back to my original thought, which was originally a conscious one. Who will attend my funeral? I had a dream about it once, one a little more logical in sequence than the usual. I dreamed I had been killed by a man, and I use that term lightly, who continuously works his way back into my life. Not directly into my life, but indirectly, through a friend who I care a great deal for. He killed me with his car, in my driveway, whilst on drugs. What drug I do not know, nor did I ever. In reality, I do know he has had his trouble with illegal substances, but I have never bothered to pertain the details. I never liked him anyways.

So I was dead, in the dream of course. Run down in my parents driveway. My dear friend was with this man, she had brought him over. Now, in reality, I vividly remember saying I never wanted to see this man to my dear friend. So in the dream, dead me, watching the living react, was furious. Against my wishes this man was in my presence, and to top it all off… he killed me!

Fuming doesn’t suffice, I was livid amongst other such words that incite that raw emotion of anger. Although, I saw it come to life as I watched the living. For you see, there were other dear friends present as I became road kill. My best friend, well, he wasn’t none to pleased himself. If I recall correctly, he socked this man in the mouth, screamed at my dear friend who brought this man along to leave immediately, and he did it all through tears. Now, in reality, I have never seen my best friend cry. So I imagined, in the dream, that it looked something like when he pretended to cry to the movie, “The Notebook”. It was a terrible acting job in reality, and it was again in the dream, but its all I had to go by. Sure it looked insincere, but dead me, in the dream watching the living, sure knew that my best friend truly cared.

My dream skipped to my funeral after that. I swear, one of the reasons dreams are impossible to remember is because of all the skipping around that goes on. Its like reading a comic book, panel by panel. There is an action going on in each panel playing off the previous one. However, there is always some action missed. They are just a serious of pictures after all, telling a story a little bit at a time. So, you have to wonder, what happens between the panels?

What happened from the time of my death leading up to my funeral? How were my parents told? Was this man arrested? Had my dear friend talked to my best friend or any of the others since? How quickly were my services arranged? Questions, but alas, the panels move on, leaving them unanswered.

At my funeral, I only imagined four people initially. The same ones that were present for my death. The man that killed me showed up with my dear friend, answering one of the questions left between the panels. Was this man arrested? The answer was no it seemed. One of my four closest friends was appalled that my dear friend would bring this man, this man that killed me, to my funeral. Rightly so, I didn’t even want this man at my house even before he had killed me!

There was a scuffle in my dream. The three male friends out of the four closest friends wailed on the man who had killed me. Suffice it to say, dead me, watching the living, was pleased at how much they cared. These friends rarely resort to violence. It was nice to see my death as one of the rare catalysts that creates the reaction of violence.

That was the end, though. I woke up. Isn’t that just how it always seems to go? Just as things truly begin, and you see things that truly incite some emotion, it ends. Of course, typically, these are the rules to sex dreams, but it can be applied to any other dream as well I suppose.

As interesting it was to witness how those I feel closest with reacted to my demise, I am still left wondering who would come to my funeral. Let’s face it, we all know that those closest to us will attend, to talk about it is just uninteresting. The people you expected to show up came, hallelujah! No, what really engrosses me is those outliers. Those people that hang out on the fringes of your life. The ones you just met and the ones you met years ago but haven’t seen in as much time. Those acquaintances you see at work or at school. Those friends you see but only every once in awhile. The people you never go out of your way to talk to. Those people who only knew you through someone else.

And then there are those who are from the opposite spectrum. Those people you never liked, but still tolerated throughout your life for one reason or another. The vice versa of the former, as yet unbeknownst to you and eternally so at the point of death. The ones who you feud with constantly. Those who would do you harm if someone else hadn’t beaten them to it. Those fascinating few who share a hatred with you, both would rather  not see the other, but they somehow manage to stay in your life.

It is these people that I wonder about. These unpredictable many. For you see, it is only the few that you know will mourn your death. Only few can you confidently predict for said reaction. While a great many outliers you can assume would mourn you, still you can not be sure. Some people may just surprise you. It happens in life, is it odd to think it would happen in death? Those precious few will be there, but they account for only a small fraction of the people you have come across in your lifetime. How will the majority sway?

There is so much said about what happens to you after death, but no one ever stops to think about what happens in the realm of the living while your walking through the gates of heaven or frolicking in a sea of 72 virgins.

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Posted by on May 9, 2011 in Flash, Non-Fiction


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