"He looks *great,* doesn't he?"

They were probably admiring his new nose.

My folks is cremation folks. My grandfather is actually scattered in the bushes. With my mother's cat. My grandmother wanted her ashes buried at sea, so they got the Navy to do it.

seemed so unnecessary to be SO upset over such a thing. I can't imagine that, even if my grandmother's spirit was still around, that she'd have cared much.

Not the most rational time, though, is it? Funerals are not about the dead people. They're about what the survivors have to do to make surviving easier.

The notion that people get more closure from an open casket was actually something promoted by the funeral industry. Not based on any psychological study.

My first two funerals were closed casket. I had a head-buzzing "why are we all here?" feeling until I saw both corpses. I would have hated for them to look just like cousin Marlon or uncle W lay down and napped. I wanted them to look different, dead, distorted so it hammered home how not coming back they were.

Worked like a charm.

With Marni's funeral I also had a gasping disbelief that lasted until the second shovel of dirt. And then it was all loss and concern for her family and other loved ones. I'm not saying that there's no moment if you don't shovel dirt into the grave or view the corpse--just that both those moments were almost an audible click as my mindset shifted settings.

I don't know if it's relevant, but I never imagined seeing my uncle or cousin anywhere after their funerals. Not even slightly. But every short brunette woman around my age seems to have a fleeting resemblance to Marni.

Y'all don't really have to put me on a pool table. But that was one of the most moving TV funerals I ever saw. The producer really died, so the grief was for real.

I wanted them to look different, dead, distorted so it hammered home how not coming back they were.

Yes. At the same time, my grandfather's body with makeup did look "better" than my sick grandfather, in a certain way, so we did all do the "he looks so good!" thing.

My cousin was cremated, and I hadn't seen him for close to a year before he died. It was very strange not to be able to see him one last time, because I still have moments where I forget that he's gone.

Of course, he chose cremation because he was an organ donor (he had been a recipient as well), and he helped a lot of people, for which I have a lot of respect.

Apropos of nothing, a nifty article by a college student who interned on the Colbert Report: [link]

the idea of a grave sitting untended and unvisited for years on end is somehow awful.

This is an important point in some volunteer work I'm doing for the Congressional Cemetery where John Phillips Souza, Hoover, and a boat load of 18th century senators are buried.

It's private property now, and has been turned into a dog park. The membership fees pay for the upkeep ($5000 every time it's mowed, which in a tropical environment like DC is more often than you might imagine). Every grave is neatly trimmed...ancient stones are being repaired, new trees planted all the time to replace those felled by storms, draMATIC reduction in crime with the roaming dogs keeping out the crack folk and people trying to signal the prisoners in the jail next door...little flags planted by all the military graves on holidays, historic tours remembering "The Arsenal Ladies", Masons, Native American leaders, etc.

And still, people say it is 'disrespectful' to have dogs playing near dead people. I just don't get it.

Not the most rational time, though, is it? Funerals are not about the dead people. They're about what the survivors have to do to make surviving easier.

This is, of course, true.

Jilli! Nilly!

Have you seen this website?!?!?!?

[link]

I'm all ready to get my Laura on BIGTIME -- and the prices actually seem reasonable.

At the cemetery where Marni was buried (Forest Lawn? Mount Sinai?) the walk up to the chapel (not sure if that's the term to use) is lined on either side with graves either side, with gravestones flat to the ground. There were way too many (hundreds) people to fit on the walks, so people had just started spilling over in the area where we joined. A number of them looked down, read names of the deceased, and tried to find two square inches of pathway to cotch on.

I was comfortably standing on a couple of graves when I became self-conscious about not being self-conscious. But by then it was too late--the choice was to stand there, or move further out of earshot (and into the shade, which we did later--I still have my tan from that morning).

My grandmother had three or so graves in her yard. When we visited her growing up we'd play on them, or stand on them (two of them were covered with thick cement covering) to reach the fruit of the trees that overshadowed them.

We knew they were graves, and I even had known one of the cousins buried there. But they were just ten or twenty yards from her front door. No one treated them much differently from any other patches of land that weren't growing crops.