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Why I Like Funerals Better than Weddings
Karen Marcus
I don't like weddings. I got married once and didn't even like my own wedding. Yes, it was a beautiful day. Yes, all our friends were there. Yes, I was glowing. But, between my annoying mother and annoying new mother-in-law, the fact that my dress ripped, the judge was drunk, and the caterer never showed up, there wasn't much to be happy about. Oh, sure, when it was over, I was happy to be married. But it wasn't much fun getting married.
So much planning goes into a wedding, so much expectation. Weddings are carefully choreographed accidents waiting to happen. There are so many things that can go wrong.
But at a funeral, the worst has already happened, so there isn't much to worry about. Weddings carry only a 50% chance of success. Funerals, on the other hand, carry a 100% success rate. The dead will remain dead. You can't go wrong with a funeral.
At weddings, the main spectacle is the bride: a froofy, frenzied, powdered, primped, overly emotional stress-case. Even if she's your best friend or your sister or your aunt or your favorite cousin, meaningful interaction with a bride is impossible because she is in Bride Mode, which involves dealing with the inevitable family dramas, managing crises, and - once the actual ceremony is over - constantly moving around. At a funeral, the main spectacle is a corpse. Corpses will remain stock still for any interaction you want with them. You can sing them a song. You can pray for them. You can read them your bad poetry. You can hover over them with no real intention at all. They don't care. No corpse I've ever known has resisted any of this in any way.
Corpses can even be entertaining. As a teenager, I attended the funeral of a close friend, an animated, bright, engaging fellow. I was devastated by his death and just couldn't imagine him dead - even though he was in a casket, right there, in front of me. I kept expecting him to jump up and tell everyone it was a big joke, kept expecting him to mimic someone, or to sing a Rolling Stones song. These thoughts, along with all the memories of him shared with friends, kept us entertained not only that day, but in the months and years to come.
Yes, people laugh at funerals. And they cry at weddings. Go figure.
Then, there is the matter of refreshments. The food at funerals is way better than the food at weddings. Weddings have bad catered food that's nothing like anything you would ever actually eat on purpose, while funerals have familiar food, home-made with love by people you trust - kind of like little impromptu family reunions.
It's common for friends and neighbors to bring food to a grieving family. But, contrary to popular belief, it's not so much that people who are grieving need food - most of them have lost their appetites. It's more that the people cooking the food don't know what else to do because there's nothing they can do. Preparing food is a way of taking control of a phenomenon no one has any control over. This may seem a sad state of affairs. Yet, there is something comforting in the finality of it. In fact, if the loved one has been ill, death may come as a relief.
However, many deaths - and therefore many funerals - take people by surprise. And this is a good thing because people don't have time to be resentful. There's no time to think about, say, your cousin Tim, who swindled you after you went into business with him five years ago.
With weddings, on the other hand, invitations are sent out months in advance, so you have all this time to debate travel arrangements and what kind of gift to buy and what to wear and Aunt Martha who always spits when she speaks and do I really have to stand up there again and pretend I want to catch the bouquet? And why do people need theme colors at a wedding when it's not a competitive sport, is it? And is the groom the same guy she showed up with at the Fourth of July picnic who inadvertently assaulted three people with horseshoes? And so on.
It's so much easier to celebrate what has been - the life of the deceased - than to anticipate and celebrate what you hope will be the success of the newly wed couple. You want the best for them, you really do. But, c'mon, let's be realistic. At least fifty percent of marriages end in divorce. Of the other 50%, let's say 50% are unhappy. That leaves only 25% of married couples to live "happily ever after." A happy ending is not unthinkable. Yet, it is not altogether probable. So, yes, we hope. But in this day and age, our hope is mingled with the ever-present reality of statistics, self-help books, marriage counselors, and the fact that men and women don't actually need each other for survival or economic reasons anymore.
As for looking back on the life of the deceased, well, not everyone accomplishes great things. But it would be hard to find a life that had no merit. Yes, Bill was a chain smoker and compulsive gambler. But he was a hell of a Checkers player. Joanne was a busybody, but she made her own soap. Hey, by the end of that eulogy, I wished she would come to life just long enough for me to get my picture taken with her one last time so I could show it to people and say things like, "Yes, it's true. She made her own soap."
At weddings, you have to have your picture taken - with the boyfriend you'll break up with a few days later, with the cousin who's wearing the same dress as you and looks better in it, with the aforementioned froofy - and, by now, soused - bride.
At funerals, no one takes pictures. You don't have to worry about something being stuck in your teeth. But, even if photography were a common practice at funerals, who would care? Everybody looks good in black.
© Karen Marcus
Karen Marcus is a freelance writer living in Fort Collins, Colorado. In addition to running her business - writing company, Final Draft Communications, she is currently at work on her first good novel.
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