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This is a question Putting the Fun in Funeral

Some deaths come suddenly or too soon and can really hit hard, others seem to be a blessed relief. Similarly, some funerals can be deeply upsetting and sad, others can make you want to hug the world.

Mmm, don't want to bring you down or anything, but tell us your funeral stories...

(, Thu 11 May 2006, 9:31)
Pages: Latest, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Dad had died... his coffin was brought back to the house...
... so people could pay their last respects.

During the last weeks as he was sedated before dying, visitors were refused access to preserve both his dignity and his memory. It seemed only fair that his friends and further family could visit him at home for one final farewell.

Picture the scene. The close family are gathered around the coffin in the dining room. My brother-in-law tactfully softened the lighting ready for the candles to be brought out.

No-one could say anything. Eventually my brother found the courage to ask "do you think he's up there looking down on us?" a tremble in his voice.

Tears welled in my eyes. My sister remained silent. All eyes turned to the coffin.

And then... amazingly... the lights became incredibly, fiercely bright. In a split second the room was then pitched into absolute darkness.

Silence.

Then the lights slowly returned to their previous softness.

Mum hopefully looked up to the heavens for another impossible sign from my dear, deceased father... as my brother-in-law, with real fear in his voice announced:

"Sorry everyone... I just leant on the dimmer switch."

Still laughing with him about that a couple of years later. Truly worthy of Frank Spencer.
(, Fri 12 May 2006, 15:48, Reply)
Scattering Jake's ashes
Some ten years ago, I owned horses. My best friend had a lovely old horse, Jake, for her daughter. Tragically, they'd only owned him for some three weeks when he was struck down with colic and had to be put down. Jake's previous owner had made it a condition of his transfer that as and when he popped his clogs, she would pay for him to be cremated and his ashes were to be scattered on the field where he last lived. As my friend had real problems getting her head around the logistics of his cremation and what happened afterwards, I offered to help out with it.

Our first problem was that the ashes went AWOL. I spent a day on the phone to the Abattoir and all points east, trying to track him down. At 6pm, I eventually tracked him down to the stable yard from which he had been bought. I went and collected him - at about 2ft x 2ft 6ins, an extraordinarily small box for such a large creature - and he stayed in the boot of my estate car until the weekend, when we would be able to attend to his enscatterment with due ceremony. It felt very strange, knowing he was back there as I was driving along. I kept apologising to him for going too fast over the bumps, and felt as thought I should leave a carrot or two for him overnight.

I met up with his owners at the stables and brought the cardboard box through for them to see. We weren't sure how much of the whole cremation thing the daughter understood at 8yrs old and so we were slow in opening the box and investigating further, so as to give her plenty of time to get used to each stage in the process. Quite apart from anything else, WE weren't too sure what to expect.

Consequently, we were as nervous as a pair of kittens when we came to opening that box. We started to get the giggles when we realised that the cardboard box was so well sealed with packing tape, it was almost as though they expected him to make a bid for freedom. We opened up that box using just our fingertips, at arm's length and with an attitude of someone expecting a large white horse to burst out of it with a sign around his neck, saying "Fooled Ya!".

So ... there inside the cardboard box was not, as we anticipated, a lot of finely ground ashes ... but a plastic bag. We then ponder on whether to undo the knot on the plastic bag, or cut it open. Hmmn. Well, there's still a chance that horse might pop up like a Jack-In-The-Box, so we'll opt for untying. We lost two fingernails before we lost patience and hit it with the scissors, revealing inside the plastic bag .. a pine box.

Now, we've SERIOUSLY got the giggles. I wrestle with getting the pine box out of the plastic bag, out of the cardboard box. That done, we see something wrapped in more packing tape and plastic, inside the bag, beside the casket.

Its his shoes. *sob* Never did a set of four horseshoes look so forlorn. They'd still got the nails in them. They, quite obviously, were still attached to him when he went in for cremation. Too much .. they go back in the bag and get tucked away in the cupboard.

So - we're still no closer to being able to sprinkle these ashes - and we're now both giggling and in tears. The next job is to work out how to get inside the casket. There's no discernible fixings or way to open it. By now, we're not sure we really WANT to open it, but we promised so we were committed. I turned the casket over and there, on the underside, were eight screw heads. I tell you, this whole thing was capable of withstanding nuclear attack, it was so well sealed. We purloin a screwdriver and get to work on the screws, which turn out to be about four inches long. We're rapidly getting the idea that most people don't open these caskets.

In time, the screws are undone and the base plate of the casket is ready to be removed. We've lost the Jack-In-The-Box idea now, so its not too difficult to do. There underneath, at last, is .. another plastic bag. Okay, so now we're in hysterics. Crying, laughing, hanging onto each other, gasping for breath .... its the never ending story of Jake's ashes. Somehow, we pull ourselves together and continue.

This time, we're quite convinced that there's going to be another box inside the bag, so we set to with the scissors to cut off the knot in the bag top. There, inside, he is. A flipping gigantic great pile of dark grey dust. Pause for breath and composure. The ashes are much finer than we'd anticipated - and a lot heavier. It’s definitely a wheelbarrow and shovel job. Definitely not a "graceful sprinkling lightly from the fingers, while delicate lace hankies are held to brimming eyes", job.

Daughter joins us and is quite unconcerned at the sight of the ashes - and completely unmoved by how both her Mother and myself appeared to be just a tad deranged. So, the next problem is exactly where in the field. After all, its about 20 acres. As the wheelbarrow is heavy and we're flagging a bit, we decide that anywhere qualifies as "scattering him on his field which he loved so much", so we'd just get on with it.

Roll sleeves up, dig shovel in and try to encourage the ashes to fall gracefully in an even sprinkle. Nope. They fall, with a heavy plop, in one lump. Next shovelful, we adopt the windmill technique and throw them in an arcing curve .. which the wind then catches and throws back at us, covering us from head to foot. After much spitting and spluttering, we're verging on hysterics again.

Daughter, very wisely, decides to leave us to it and wanders off again muttering about "barking mad". We've cracked the scattering technique, as the windmill approach works beautifully, provided you throw them downwind of yourself. However, as we reach about halfway down the bag, we realise that some lumps are starting to appear in the fine ashes. Further fingertip exploration reveals that there are shards of bone, but they are literally knife sharp! No good at all for spreading across a field where horses (and a donkey) were roaming.

So, there we are, sorting through the remaining ashes which have had to be tipped out into the wheelbarrow and placing the shards into the plastic bag. Quickly, before daughter comes back and we have to explain about the lumps of Jake we're having to sort out. We're up to our elbows in him, by that time, crying with laughter at the absurdity of it all. We, plus the whole stable yard and farm are wearing him, thanks to the wind. Scattered? I'll say he was scattered.

We dutifully continue spreading the now-sifted remains - and carry the rest wrapped in plastic in a pocket. By this time we're breathless with laughter, as each sweep of the shovels sends ashes to all points of the compass, riding on the wind. During which, I notice Lucy. The donkey. Staring. At us.

Warning bells went off in my head, but I was beside myself by then and didn't really hear them. We managed to scatter the last two shovelfuls as Lucy approached, long chocolate brown ears pricked to attention and bright eyes alight with curiosity. She reached the first of the piles which had just "plopped", instead of scattered ... and delicately sniffed at it. She raised her head and looked thoughtfully at us as we hung onto each other for support and realisation dawned as to her intent.

You see, there's nothing that donkeys like more, than a dust bath. Down she went, over onto her side, onto her back until all four feet were pointing skywards and she wriggled and squirmed and .... changed colour.

Well that was it. That completely did for us. We were in screaming hysterics and had to sit down, but my knees gave way and I lay, shrieking with laughter, on my back in the grass. How we survived that, I'll never know.

When we were once again able to walk, we returned back to the yard where we toasted Jake's long life in champagne and ate strawberry tarts. Forgetting to wash our hands first. Never has a horse travelled so far in so short a time.
(, Thu 11 May 2006, 17:50, Reply)
My Sisters ex husbands long long trip to the after life….
My sisters ex died suddenly of an excess of gravity (twat fell into a hold on a ship pissed while shouting abuse at a deck hand working for him). Now my sister and him hated each others guts but for the sake of the kid she did the right thing with the inlaws at the funeral, she was greatly surprised to be handed the casket a while later as they were sure she would know what he would have wanted done with it as he had left no specific instructions.

So being the woman scorned she did the following, (please note he hated all the following places and services with a vengeance).

1 Dropped his ashes in several Micky D, Little Chief fine food establishments.
2 Places small amount in envelopes and sent them to non existent address around the world with no return address( he hated the post office for some reason!)
3 Mixed with bread and feed to seagulls, he hated these and their plop (shame as he is part plop now)…
4 She asked me to deposited some in urinals so he could be pissed on by strangers. ( I obliged her by doing this in several establishments including the George in Dublin (very pink establishment) as he was a skank homophobe as well…
5 He wanted to be laid to rest at sea being a jolly jack tar, We feed some to his remains to his dogs so he could be shit out a dogs ass. then flushing same, so he could take the long journey to the sea via the sewers in a dog doo raft (not quite the Styx , I should have jammed a few coins in the log for Charon)..
6 The rest of his ashes are still in my sisters bedroom so he can witness her not faking an orgasm…

As to the rest of his worldly remains, any sadistic and sickening suggestions are more than welcome….

Length? well Mrs Rubbersheep never moans, still maybe if I ever manage to wake her up she might…
(, Fri 12 May 2006, 11:36, Reply)
a crying shame.
A friend was telling me a few years ago about how at her brother-in-laws funeral, her husband was a paul-bearer.

He was carrying his own brothers coffin.

He was close with his brother and naturally, devastated.

As they put the coffin down facing the cremeation chamber, her husband refused to let go of the coffin. He was crying, weeping and sobbing; too much to form a coherant sentance.

He was there for 10 minutes. He was getting louder and making more of a scene. It was only until the mother came up to console the brother, did anyone realise his fingers were caught under the coffin and were seeping with blood.

Oops.
(, Thu 11 May 2006, 20:01, Reply)
Funeral
My sister died last year, I was very close to her and her slow death over six months was enormously upsetting. Her friends were generally a rather intense and sentimental lot, whilst me and my brother believe that sentiment is for people who are too witless to have their own thoughts & feelings. We approached evrything with humour wherever possible, and grim humour if we could possibly get away with it.

My sister had a humanist funeral. I found the service almost unbearably distressing, and I had an overwhelming panicky feeling when the loony looking woman who ran it announced we were all going to have a minute's silence for our own thoughts. I really thought I was going to break down uncontrollably, when my brother leaned over and asked me if I was OK. I nodded and bit my lip.

He then said sotto voce in a silent and packed crematorium, "You know, I reckon you've time for a quick wank."

That saved my sanity for the whole day. Because we were close family no-one dared to make anything of it.

I am 42 my brother is 54.
(, Fri 12 May 2006, 12:56, Reply)
My mate got the wrong funeral
A work-mate of mine ducked off work to attend the funeral of a family friend. It turned out to be a busy day at the crematorium with three services kicking off at the same time. It was only after my mate was seated that he realised that he did not recognise a single person there - The service got under way and my mates worst fears were comfirmed, he had no idea who the departed was. Of course, rather than face the embarassment of leaving, he chose to sit through the service.

MISTAKE!

It turned out to be a bit of a trendy new age affair with the celebrant walking round with a microphone asking the assembled for their thoughts on the recent corpse. Comments such as "He lived for his family" and "He was a true friend" abounded. My mate had the mike handed to him and gave his comment - "I wish I'd known him better".

Quick thinking that, I thought.
(, Mon 15 May 2006, 13:35, Reply)
buy one, get one free
a couple of years ago, the uncle of a good friend of mine passed away. i was invited to the funeral, but, what with it being in a provincial coutryside church and all, i decided to pass. with hindsight, that was a very poor decision indeed.

shortly after the funeral began, the priest introduced the first hymn, and the organist began to play. however, as the song went on, each verse was progressively slower than the last one, with the bereaved nervously glancing at one another as they had to adapt their singing to the organist's unpredictable tempo. finally, during the fourth verse, the organist stopped entirely, and slumped over his organ, producing a loud, off-key drone.

those who are familiar with organs will know that, unlike pianos, an organ will keep playing a note for as long as its held down. the drone continued.

the priest - who was also trained in first aid, etc - walked briskly to the back of the church (he refrained from running - this was a funeral after all), tried to see if the organist was ok, but he clearly wasn't. to make matters worse, he was a fat bastard, so no amount of heaving could lift him off the organ. needless to say, the emergency services were called.

what with this being a provincial english funeral, everyone was polite as possible, and kept looking forward - staring is awfully bad mannered. i can only imagine the looks on faces as people stared unflinchingly at the altar for fifteen minutes while waiting for the emergency services to arrive, with a dischordant organ droning in the background, only to later be added to by an ambulance siren, and the shouting of paramedics trying to perform CPR. as a final touch, the shrill whine of defibilators (if you've watched any hospital drama, you'll know the sound) was added to the cacophony, as they tried to resuscitate the organist for 20 minutes before declaring him dead.

the funeral was rescheduled.
(, Thu 11 May 2006, 16:11, Reply)
not a funeral, but funeral related
just started my new job its st patricks day weekend

a new colleague says he is off to dublin to see his mother for the weekend

me: oh thats a good excuse !
him: no really, i need to go out there to deal with my fathers probate
me:(trying to be funny) youre going to deal with your fathers prostate ?

silence - grim tumbleweed moment in office..

me: well, erm actually, i dont know what a probate is ?
him: its where you deal with the last will and testament and put affairs in order.
me: oh.
him: and what makes it worse, he died of prostate cancer a few days ago...

worlds biggest clanger ?

i offered him a running kick at my bollocks, but fortunately he declined.
(, Thu 11 May 2006, 12:10, Reply)
One moment's applause....
A friend of mine involved in the comedy scene died a few months ago, after being diagnosed with a brain tumour. I know a lot of people say that they 'don't want people to be miserable' but that's not always the way it ends up.

However, at this one, it was a 'Humanist' service (non-religious) so it wasn't at a church. He had requested that, instead of mourning, and a depressing eulogy, that people that knew him share funny stories and anecdotes about him. It was a lovely way to send him off.

However, the most moving part of the ceremony was when, as the curtain drew in front of his coffin, instead of the mournful silence, his wife had requested that we gave him his final applause. Cue an incredible amount of clapping and cheering, a standing ovation for him as a final way to say goodbye.

It might seem a strange thing to do, but for me, it stands out as one of the most poignant and moving things I've ever witnessed in my life.
(, Fri 12 May 2006, 14:00, Reply)
When I was about 10...
...my dad came to pick us up from a birthday party. There I was merrily jumping on a bouncy castle and my dad shouts out, "Hands up who has a great nan." Of course, me and bruv stick our hands up with a couple of others, and dad says "Not so fast you two..." Thats how I found out I was going to my first funeral....
(, Fri 12 May 2006, 20:38, Reply)
Star Wars
One of my friends from school died when we were around 17. Him being a bit of a star wars fan, he had previously requested for the theme tune to be played as the coffin was carried into the church.

The best part was when the vicar said "may the force be with you".

Nice one Dan. Classic
(, Thu 11 May 2006, 17:39, Reply)
Tears from heaven
My grandad died less than a year ago. Good innings etc. Anyway, we were in the car following the hearse, me, my mum, my uncle, and my younger sister.

My mum is insane and likes to make a huge drama out of everything.

It was really quiet in the car. My sister looks out of the window and softly says "I think it's starting to rain". My mum looks out of the window, ponders for a moment and says "Perhaps... perhaps it'll rain tears from heaven"

My uncle adds "Or it might piss down."

I've never before or since wanted to give anyone a huge high-five.
(, Sat 13 May 2006, 11:13, Reply)
It was the funeral of the bloke who invented the Hokey Cokey the other day.
It was all going so well, until they lifted him into the coffin. They put his left leg in, and thats where the trouble started.
(, Sat 13 May 2006, 0:17, Reply)
Angel Cussed
Ben, one of my best friends, died very suddenly towards the end of last year. He was an amazing guy, and the funeral was attended by a multitude of people, all from different lives. Ben had that effect on most people that he met - everyone there felt proud to have been his friend.

Ben's sister was saying a few words in front of everyone; God knows how she did it. I, like most people there, was in absolutely no state to even string together a sentence. Ben's niece, a very cute girl of about 5, was there. She was wearing her favourite fairy suit with wings. Seeing her mum so upset, but not really understanding what was happening, she went to give her mum a hug. As she was lifted up, she found herself in front of hundreds of adults, all of whom were in some sort of state.

She raised her head up, slowly looked at as all, then clearly said: "Fuck". Then she walked off.

Never before have I ever been so amused and grief-stricken at the same time
(, Thu 11 May 2006, 19:37, Reply)
All Things Bright and Beautiful...
...was a hastily chosen hymn for my almost atheist Nan's funeral, by my Dad and Uncle - a popular choice I imagine for those short of hymn ideas.

Having never really studied the lyrics, I was surprised to find the line "The purple headed mountain" contained in a verse. This led to me choking down my laughs at the double entendre, which was made worse as I looked down the row to see my brother and cousins doing exactly the same.

I believe my nan would have done the same so it was ok.
(, Thu 11 May 2006, 12:29, Reply)
Coffins
went out with a girl who worked for a funeral home, and fairly early into the whole dating thing, she told me that since i'm so tall, i should think about starting a fund to pay for my custom coffin, as i won't fit in a standard one.

the relationship didn't last.
(, Fri 12 May 2006, 6:29, Reply)
Malfunctioning service
At the crematorium, the words had been spoken and a sombre organ tune played in the background, as my godfather's dad's remains began moving towards the curtains to their fiery end.

However, the moving surface beneath the coffin got slightly stuck, and it began randomly shuddering towards the curtains. The music then started wawing as the tape it was being played from started to chew itself up. Then the curtains suddenly flew open, and the coffin jerked - nay, threw- itself inside, when before the curtains could shut a metal door clanged closed behind it.

The curtains slid elegantly closed again.

My godfather's mum could hardly stand by the end of it from a crippling giggle fit.

On a more sombre note, I'd also like to add that my school wouldn't permit me to attend the funeral of a family friend who had commited suicide. I was a bit miffed by that, as I was very upset by it. However, the widow told me this: after the funeral and the wake, she'd gone home to start sorting through cupboards, and found under some towels a random joint. Knowing it was probably one of the kids', the idea suddenly struck her to smoke it. So she did, and not having had any in her system for a good 20 years, was completely smashed by the end of it. This was fine, but then the doorbell rang, and she was faced with the officer who had been investigating the death. He stayed with her for half an hour, clearly aware she was off her tits, made her a cup of tea then left. After a munchies attack and a giggling fit, she realised just how kind the copper had been, and on ringing to make some kind of believable excuse, he said "don't worry love, it's not the first time - just have yourself some more tea and watch some telly". A lovely act of understanding at a very hard time. Sweet, really.
(, Sun 14 May 2006, 14:18, Reply)
RIP Fush
When our beloved goldfish Fush finally glooped his last Mr weebear and I couldn't bear to send him to the great U-bend in the sky and decided to give him a proper burial.

We wrapped him in spring flowers and Bounty kitchen roll and laid him to rest in the communal gardens where we live. Somewhat embarrassed about being such a pair of anthropomorphic soft twunts, however, we decided to do it under the cover of darkness.

Upon covering him up, we decided to put some small rocks on the top of the grave to mark it. Mr weebear scrabbled about a bit under a tree for a few and spotted a particularly fine large pebble to crown Fush's final resting place. On picking it up, it was suprisingly light and, well, chalky.

It was an enormous white dog shit. Who says you don't see it any more, eh?

Spoiled the service a bit.
(, Fri 12 May 2006, 13:15, Reply)
Uncle Ted
There seem to be a lot of these stories so far but I also seem to get the giggles at funerals - doesn't matter who we are burying. It must be something about not being allowed to laugh.
At my poor Uncle Ted's funeral (he was my favourite Uncle - you know, the one who stole your nose when you were little) I laughed so uncontrollably they wanted to send for a doctor. But honestly, it was because of my sister. She turned to look at me, crying hysterically to tell me "I can't believe Uncle Teddy has gone". She had a massive bogey hanging out of one nostril and looked like a panda because of her mascara. Not only that, but it sounded like she had said "I can't believe Uncle Teddy is a mong" because of how she was sobbing. Good times, eh?
Mum still hasn't forgiven me for ruining a "beautiful service". But I know that Uncle Teddy was pissing himself too.
(, Thu 11 May 2006, 12:28, Reply)
when I'm dead

if anyone says of me "it's what he would've wanted", please remind them that what I would've wanted would be to not have died.
(, Mon 15 May 2006, 3:14, Reply)
Ex-Armyman's Funeral
A friend of mine's grandad reached the age of 84, and rather peacefully passed away in his sleep. Twas a nice man, as I'd spoken to him a few times on the way to town, and he'd always made his upmost to speak decently and as politely as possible to me.

I found out the funeral details and promptly attended quietly at the back of the church, right by the aisle. After a few hymns, the vicar gives a speach about how well the turnout was for him, and also about his heroic deeds in the 2nd World War. Apparently this guy used to be a member of the Unexploded Bomb division in Swansea during the blitz, and single-handedly saved hundreds of lives during his time in service. An army representative was called up to give a brief speach about his career record, and thus did so. At the end of his speach, he closed it by announcing for everyone to stand and that the Royal Military Brass Band Representative will now play a song in rememberance. I'm looking down the front, stretching into the aisle to see this, and I can't see this rep nowehere.

The cunt was standing just behind me in the aisle, bugle in hand and lined up about a foot from my right ear.

I fucking shit myself as he started playing, hymn book flying gracefully two rows ahead of me, aptly striking another mourner. The bastard.
(, Fri 12 May 2006, 16:44, Reply)
...whoops.
When my Uncle died he stressed in his will that he wanted You'll Never Walk Alone as the song he was taken out of the church to. He was a huge Liverpool fan, so thought it'd be very cool. I think he envisaged a whole room full of crying family members linking hand and being, you know... strong.

Anyway, being somewhere far removed from the cultural map, the only version he had of it was from one of their FA Cup Final tapes, so we grabbed that and headed to the church. The funeral went really well, and just as it was about to wrap up I get the nod from the vicar to flick the switch on the tape machine.

Now, I'm pretty stupid. I didn't really check which side of the tape I put in, so as weeping relatives had their final chance to say goodbye to my Uncle, they did it to the strains of...

...The Anfield Rap.

Classy.
(, Sat 13 May 2006, 11:09, Reply)
7 Funerals In A Month
1.Foster dad
2.Grandad (mums side)
3.Foster mums sister
4.Foster mums mum
5.Grandma (mums side)
6.Foster mums dad
7.Foster dads brothers wife

Well i got to the 7th funeral that fucked up month and we had had the same vicar dude for everyone, n what is the first thing he says to me?

"Hello, back again? I think your starting to attend church more than me, you really must like it here"
You know i truly do wish i was lying
(, Fri 12 May 2006, 21:39, Reply)
Went to my
Grandad's funeral and this lady came up to me and said " i did'nt know the man but i know he was a good person if you don't mind how did he die?" To which I replied "The big C" the lady came back with "drowning must have been a terrible death" I made my excuses and left.....
(, Fri 12 May 2006, 16:22, Reply)
Totally and utterly true.
When myself and Mr Wow cop it and go to the great gig in the sky, we're both being buried, side by side.Both of us are to be buried with:

A hand-and-a-half sword (basically a big bastard sword that I used to use in battle re-enactment)

A crown

A laptop

A spade

A quill and parchment

Coins on our eyes

Some phylacteries (little boxes with part of the Torah in them, as far as I'm aware. I'm technically a big Jew, but I know naff all about it)

a Bible

The Qu'ran

Money (I want deutschemarks, francs, schillings, kroner, pounds and dollars)edit- I know it's all Euros now. That's the point, smartarses.

Some loo roll.


The reasoning behind this is that we want to fuck up the futuristic time team that digs us up and wants to date us. Of course they could carbon date us, but we'll all know they're cheating.

And I'm being buried in pyjamas. I want to be comfy.

No point apologising for length- it's mostly just space. If it'd been full of writing I might've, but it's not, so I won't. Arr.
(, Fri 12 May 2006, 10:40, Reply)
My ex-girlfriend committed suicide from a massive heroin overdose
Her mother (who was an obssesive control freakish bitch, and who had in all likelyhood been the major cause of Char's suicide) firmly believed that we, her friends, had lead her into smack (even though we had all been trying to get her to kick it for YEARS, and none of the rest of us took it.) Thus she banned us all from the actual funeral - "family only" apparently. So we hid in Highgate cemetary and waited till the "family" (her mum and her brother) had gone, then held our own funeral, the way she would have wanted it. Her brother gave his mum the slip and came as well - he was decent - and we all sat on her grave and got drunk and stoned and took turns telling stories about her, and watched the sunset, and cried a lot - but in a good, she was wonderful kind of way. Then we decorated her grave with hundreds of flowers that one of my friends stole from a florist, left her a bottle of vodka and a cigarette and went to a friends house to continue the somewhat maudlin tribute to her life.

It was heartbreaking yet cathartic, and a much better send off than some old priest with no connection to her or her family droning on about heaven (which she didn't believe in) and god (which she also didn't believe in.)
(, Fri 12 May 2006, 0:55, Reply)
This hasn't actually happened to me
BUT

I work at a crematorium. We have approx 3000 services a year across two crems. I work at the bigger one.

We get all sorts of weird requests, but a few weeks ago someone had the birdy song played on exit.

Also, talking to a funeral director yeterday, she had a man in, wanting to play "Ding Dong, The Witch Is Dead" for his mother's funeral. Somthing about not being accepted as a homosexual. No bitterness at all though it seems.

I'll be thinking of more now
(, Thu 11 May 2006, 16:43, Reply)
A friend of mine...
attended his Uncle's funeral at the impressionable age of 6. As the coffin was lowered slowly into the grave, he mistook the priest's sombre words "Unto the father, the son and unto the holy ghost" for "Unto the father, the son, and into the hole he goes"!
(, Thu 11 May 2006, 13:30, Reply)
Too fat to be buried
A friend died, a rather large gentleman and a special coffin had to be made to fit him inside. Unfortunately the grave was dug to the standard council grave-hole dimensions and when the coffin was lowered it just stuck at a tilted angle in the top. The pall-bearers tugged on the ropes and a spade was used to lever the coffin back out again when it popped open and his corpse flopped onto the grass.
(, Thu 11 May 2006, 12:39, Reply)
funeral.ppt
Father John at my local parish does not allow powerpoint presentations of the dead persons life to be played at funerals in our church.
(, Thu 11 May 2006, 11:56, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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