Probably more about the deaths than the funerals, but....+ a roasted pea with extra trimmings.
"Fuck off Gabe and put him on the phone"

I had spoken to my mate Alex on Thurs. he was gonna come to my place on Fri. arvo. He was going to come from the hospital pharmacy where he was doing his internship (a couple of blocks from mine and close to the city centre) and then we were going to head into town. On the piss. & what not.
@ about 1730 I rang his old mans place to query where he was. His brother answered. I asked where Alex was. He faltered & then said "You haven't heard"
"Alex is dead." "Fuck off Gabe put Alex on" says I, thinking this was 1 of many attempts by his bro to stir shit.
It wasn't.
He'd topped himself at his dad's house, after work. His old man had found him dead on the living room couch.
That moment of absolute horror and terror realising that someone I loved was dead will never leave me. You know that feeling when you're on a plane and it feels as tho your stomach drops - it's a lot like that except it's a lot more unpleasant. I was crying as I typed this.
The funeral was at Pinnaroo - it was fairly formal and a lot more religious than Alex probably would've wanted. His old man and siblings had recently been born-again, hence the religious overtones. Whenever we go to visit my mum's grave I always drop by to say g'day. And my daughter (even tho he was dead 9 years before her birth) always makes sure she saves some sparkly sprinkles to throw on his grave.
"The Sleeper must Awaken." & I miss you Little Geek.

Risnd scratched my anchor.

A couple of years ago my best friend "Ron-As-In-Later" killed himself (probably accidentally - I still don't know, when I found out I didn't endear myself to many of his other friends by going on a rant about how selfish he'd been in making his own quietus).
It was the day that he'd quit his job to start studying, he was heading over to the UK with his ex and kids for a holiday a few weeks later; he'd been separated (very amicably) for a couple of years and had spent a lot of that time regressing back to teenage-dom. He managed to sow the last few of his remaining wild oats, drank bottles of bourbon like he was 17 again and partook in all sorts of recreational drugs.
But he was 37.
At 17 your body can probably 'bounce back' from a lot of that sort of behavior. 20 years on, not so much bounce as splat!
The 2 things that sadden me (aside from the obvious loss) - I think he just celebrated too hard and accidentally overdosed. Also, the week before Christmas FFS! The least he could've done is do it on 29th of Feb. That would've been vaguely cool.

He used to treat me as his 'confessor' which meant that every time he'd had a hit or fucked some random girly I was the one that he told about it, often in fine detail - he was very careful about 'compartmentalizing' information. So anything I knew, he made sure that other people wouldn't.

His cremation was fucked. Lots of people wondering how he died (including me) and a "nice" service with a vaguely local celeb feel. I squatted up the back crying. I got the feeling that everyone was staring at me.
Like I could give a fuck.

Burying my two best friends - sucks doughnut?
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Sat 13 Apr 2013, 9:15, Reply)