Random fact: Did you know there's a part of a bicycle, called the DickScambler? Think about that, next time you wanna go on a 10 mile bike hike, through the forest. 
Well...I guess now's as good of a time as any to start talking about death, depression and the strange ritual, that is the funeral process.
So my uncles funeral, is set for tomorrow morning. Just before noon. So that's 11am, for the lay person. I've tried really hard to not think about my uncles passing. And I've tried to not allow anyone else around me, to think too much about it, either. Impossible, I know. But dwelling on tragedy only makes it that much more harder to deal with. I've tried to relay that point, to my grandmother. Who has now lost her only brother, and youngest member of the family. But as I pride myself on being self-aware, I had to realize how much of a jackass I was being. How do you tell someone not to mourn the loss of a close family member? I don't know what I'd do if I woke up one day, to discover that my sister/s were dead. But, I have the satisfaction of knowing that statistically, men don't live as long as women. So maybe I won't have to worry about that. That seems to be the one stereotype about men, that rings true, whether you want it to, or not. Yay for shorter life spans.
So I've stopped trying to convince people to be happy. And focused more on remembering the happy times, for myself. My uncle was great man. Who lived a long, and eventful life. Tank driver during the Korean War (or some war between WW2 and Vietnam). Then he got out, and went to work driving a truck for Macy's. And was so trusted that he was picked to transport the great Macy's Christmas Tree, between it's home in the woods of North Georgia, to it's slave home on top of Lenox Mall, in the good part, of Atlanta. And in between those jobs, he was a self-taught mechanic, master of home remedies (like the time he pulled out a chicken bone, that was lodged in his nieces mouth, when all doctors and modern medicine, had failed), and generally was funny as fuck. The last time he was here, he told a hilarious short story. About how his wife/mother almost nagged him to death about coming over here, before he could even get a chance to die from the cancer. But he came anyway. Because he's a grown man. I never laughed so hard.
But don't be foolish enough to let his sense of humor, throw you off. All 5'6'' of him was as tough as nails. And he had hands like a lumberjacks. And based on what I've heard about him, he could use them very well. And pistols, as well. Those are the kinds of people I like being around, and try to emulate. Tough guys. Who are tough enough to realize that life isn't all straight faces, and clinched fists. I believe strongly that if you can't laugh at your life (and laugh hard), then you really might as well be dead. My uncle was able to laugh enough at his life. And I hope he was still laughing, at the end. I sure hope I can.
As I learn more and more about my uncle, and the kind of man that he was, I've come to realize some things about my own life, that are lacking. And that my life has pretty much sucked, up until this point. My uncle drove a tank, during a war. What was the most dangerous thing I ever did, while in the military? I sat in a trailer for two months checking for illegal aliens. During Operation Pointless Border Patrol. My uncle was a truck driver, and mechanic. I can't even find the latch to release the hood of my grandmothers car. Without angrily pacing around the car for ten minutes. Trying not to cry. I don't even have any good sex stories to tell my kids. Or any kids to tell sex stories to, for that matter. I can't go to my son and tell him all the times I had to run out of some married woman's house, before her husband walked in the bedroom. Or the orgy I walked into one night, at a college party. And I can't go to my daughter and lie to her face, saying that I've always respected women. And would never take advantage of one. And that she should avoid any guys that were like me, when I was that age. My uncle got to tell all those lies, before he died.
I guess what it all boils down to is that I see that I haven't been able to achieve even small bits of glory, from my life yet. I don't wanna save the world from alien invasion (side note: does anyone watch Falling Skies? If not, then start. Awesome show), but I'd still like to travel some portion of it, before I kick the bucket. I at least want to visit all 50 states, and Canada before my atoms break away from each other. And go off to become apart of more productive things. I think that any parent should refrain from telling a child that they've got their whole lives, ahead of them. That's an even bigger lie, than telling them about Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny, or Jonah and the great whale. You should be more honest with your kids. Even scare them with the horrible truth, that there's no guaranteed amount of time, to make something of your life. I think I've got the number figured out now. You get 40 years, tops. Once you leave high school, and life starts coming at you from all angles, like the defensive line on a football team, then you only have so many years left. Until you're just too damn old to go back, or start over. I'm 29 now. So I got another 11 left, to get my shit together. If it doesn't happen by then, I give up. I'll just take a job as a Walmart greeter, and call it a life.
The one thing I hate about this whole thing, is the strange ritual of funerals. And the weird things people say, do and ask you to say or do. Like when my grandmother asked me to go with her to view my uncles body, at the funeral home today. Even though I'm gonna be at the funeral tomorrow. I'm gonna be a pallbearer for my uncle. Which I didn't really want to do, but volunteered myself. Its out of respect for him that I only want to go to the funeral anyway. But I don't know how I'm gonna feel about carrying his corpse from the church, to the ground. Now I'm being asked to go to a funeral home. And stare at this frozen, chemical-filled shell of a man. No thanks.
And I'm gonna try not to follow the gaggle to his casket, at the funeral. If I can help it. I learned that harsh lesson after my aunt passed away. Of all the times we had together, the last image I have of her in my brain now, is of her dead face. Already decomposing. And almost unrecognizable, due to the cancer that killed her. Not gonna have that image for my uncle. I'm gonna remember him the way he was. Strong and young at heart.
Right now I'm listening to my grandmother talk about him when he was younger, to someone over the phone. You gotta have a life worth bragging about. And that's really what funerals are all about. Getting the last words in. I'll get to hear and see all the stories and people that my uncle touched (or punched), during the course of his life. And then to cap it all off, he'll get a military burial. A deserved one. No disrespect to any service men/women, past or present. But I always believed that military funerals should be reserved for people who actually fought in wars. Or were in infantry units, were medics or served in combat zones. I don't think cooks or cable guys who never saw any action, should get a big celebration. You never fired a gun after you left basic training, and now you want a 21 gun salute? I was in the national guard. I didn't do shit, while I was in. Except for that short, stateside deployment (see above). I don't think I deserve to be sent off, as if I were Colin Powell, or King Arthur. Just my opinion, of course. But I think I'm right about this one.
Okay, this glorified run-on sentence has gone far enough. I'm gonna leave you with a list of things I'd like to be said and done, in the event of my passing. Write it down. Commit to memory. And don't skip any steps.
Well...I guess now's as good of a time as any to start talking about death, depression and the strange ritual, that is the funeral process.
So my uncles funeral, is set for tomorrow morning. Just before noon. So that's 11am, for the lay person. I've tried really hard to not think about my uncles passing. And I've tried to not allow anyone else around me, to think too much about it, either. Impossible, I know. But dwelling on tragedy only makes it that much more harder to deal with. I've tried to relay that point, to my grandmother. Who has now lost her only brother, and youngest member of the family. But as I pride myself on being self-aware, I had to realize how much of a jackass I was being. How do you tell someone not to mourn the loss of a close family member? I don't know what I'd do if I woke up one day, to discover that my sister/s were dead. But, I have the satisfaction of knowing that statistically, men don't live as long as women. So maybe I won't have to worry about that. That seems to be the one stereotype about men, that rings true, whether you want it to, or not. Yay for shorter life spans.
So I've stopped trying to convince people to be happy. And focused more on remembering the happy times, for myself. My uncle was great man. Who lived a long, and eventful life. Tank driver during the Korean War (or some war between WW2 and Vietnam). Then he got out, and went to work driving a truck for Macy's. And was so trusted that he was picked to transport the great Macy's Christmas Tree, between it's home in the woods of North Georgia, to it's slave home on top of Lenox Mall, in the good part, of Atlanta. And in between those jobs, he was a self-taught mechanic, master of home remedies (like the time he pulled out a chicken bone, that was lodged in his nieces mouth, when all doctors and modern medicine, had failed), and generally was funny as fuck. The last time he was here, he told a hilarious short story. About how his wife/mother almost nagged him to death about coming over here, before he could even get a chance to die from the cancer. But he came anyway. Because he's a grown man. I never laughed so hard.
But don't be foolish enough to let his sense of humor, throw you off. All 5'6'' of him was as tough as nails. And he had hands like a lumberjacks. And based on what I've heard about him, he could use them very well. And pistols, as well. Those are the kinds of people I like being around, and try to emulate. Tough guys. Who are tough enough to realize that life isn't all straight faces, and clinched fists. I believe strongly that if you can't laugh at your life (and laugh hard), then you really might as well be dead. My uncle was able to laugh enough at his life. And I hope he was still laughing, at the end. I sure hope I can.
As I learn more and more about my uncle, and the kind of man that he was, I've come to realize some things about my own life, that are lacking. And that my life has pretty much sucked, up until this point. My uncle drove a tank, during a war. What was the most dangerous thing I ever did, while in the military? I sat in a trailer for two months checking for illegal aliens. During Operation Pointless Border Patrol. My uncle was a truck driver, and mechanic. I can't even find the latch to release the hood of my grandmothers car. Without angrily pacing around the car for ten minutes. Trying not to cry. I don't even have any good sex stories to tell my kids. Or any kids to tell sex stories to, for that matter. I can't go to my son and tell him all the times I had to run out of some married woman's house, before her husband walked in the bedroom. Or the orgy I walked into one night, at a college party. And I can't go to my daughter and lie to her face, saying that I've always respected women. And would never take advantage of one. And that she should avoid any guys that were like me, when I was that age. My uncle got to tell all those lies, before he died.
I guess what it all boils down to is that I see that I haven't been able to achieve even small bits of glory, from my life yet. I don't wanna save the world from alien invasion (side note: does anyone watch Falling Skies? If not, then start. Awesome show), but I'd still like to travel some portion of it, before I kick the bucket. I at least want to visit all 50 states, and Canada before my atoms break away from each other. And go off to become apart of more productive things. I think that any parent should refrain from telling a child that they've got their whole lives, ahead of them. That's an even bigger lie, than telling them about Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny, or Jonah and the great whale. You should be more honest with your kids. Even scare them with the horrible truth, that there's no guaranteed amount of time, to make something of your life. I think I've got the number figured out now. You get 40 years, tops. Once you leave high school, and life starts coming at you from all angles, like the defensive line on a football team, then you only have so many years left. Until you're just too damn old to go back, or start over. I'm 29 now. So I got another 11 left, to get my shit together. If it doesn't happen by then, I give up. I'll just take a job as a Walmart greeter, and call it a life.
The one thing I hate about this whole thing, is the strange ritual of funerals. And the weird things people say, do and ask you to say or do. Like when my grandmother asked me to go with her to view my uncles body, at the funeral home today. Even though I'm gonna be at the funeral tomorrow. I'm gonna be a pallbearer for my uncle. Which I didn't really want to do, but volunteered myself. Its out of respect for him that I only want to go to the funeral anyway. But I don't know how I'm gonna feel about carrying his corpse from the church, to the ground. Now I'm being asked to go to a funeral home. And stare at this frozen, chemical-filled shell of a man. No thanks.
And I'm gonna try not to follow the gaggle to his casket, at the funeral. If I can help it. I learned that harsh lesson after my aunt passed away. Of all the times we had together, the last image I have of her in my brain now, is of her dead face. Already decomposing. And almost unrecognizable, due to the cancer that killed her. Not gonna have that image for my uncle. I'm gonna remember him the way he was. Strong and young at heart.
Right now I'm listening to my grandmother talk about him when he was younger, to someone over the phone. You gotta have a life worth bragging about. And that's really what funerals are all about. Getting the last words in. I'll get to hear and see all the stories and people that my uncle touched (or punched), during the course of his life. And then to cap it all off, he'll get a military burial. A deserved one. No disrespect to any service men/women, past or present. But I always believed that military funerals should be reserved for people who actually fought in wars. Or were in infantry units, were medics or served in combat zones. I don't think cooks or cable guys who never saw any action, should get a big celebration. You never fired a gun after you left basic training, and now you want a 21 gun salute? I was in the national guard. I didn't do shit, while I was in. Except for that short, stateside deployment (see above). I don't think I deserve to be sent off, as if I were Colin Powell, or King Arthur. Just my opinion, of course. But I think I'm right about this one.
Okay, this glorified run-on sentence has gone far enough. I'm gonna leave you with a list of things I'd like to be said and done, in the event of my passing. Write it down. Commit to memory. And don't skip any steps.
Ciao
VIEW 15 of 15 COMMENTS
xenah:
Isnt it amazing. The break in the middle of the song gives me goosebumps, I just keep replaying that part.
sif:
thank you so so much for your awesome support my friend!!!!