h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

He said he wanted a no-frills direct cremation and a civil gathering where people could remember the good times. But I'm sure he did not anticipate that his parents would outlive him. Memorial services are for the living. His dad wanted visitation and a Methodist minister. His mother abhors the very idea of viewing and objects to the idea of God. Somehow I was caught in the middle.

I had visitation in a private room to the side, and took photographs for the room where the service was to be held. His father enjoyed the pictures, and wanted copies of all of them. I asked for copies of what they had--but he said he didn't know when he'd ever have time to find them all, and he's retired. I sent tiff and jpg versions of the photos at the service on CD ROM, but have received nothing.

The service was six days after he died. It was a busy, sleepless six days for me. The phone rang constantly; his dad called every few hours wanting more information. He wanted to know what movie my husband saw the night he died. I told him that we probably will never know a number of times--my husband paid cash, and never saved ticket stubs, but he kept asking anyway. By the time the service rolled around, I was relieved to see everyone who came. I think my in-laws mistook this for me enjoying the occasion. My husband wanted everyone to remember the good times, and hated the solemnity of funerals.

We had viewing starting at 9 AM, because his father seemed to want some time to say goodbye. They arrived about fifteen minutes before the service started, and his father spent about two minutes in the viewing room. I spent more time than that choosing the suit to dress him in for the viewing. I could have done direct cremation and a service for under $500.00 (with cookies), but the minister and the embalming, container, cosmetic work (there had been an autopsy), dressing and rental of a casket came to around $4,000.00. It rained, the wind blew, and it was a generally miserable day.

After the shock of his father tacitly refusing to reciprocate sharing family photos, the in-laws departed quickly. My husband's brothers needed to catch airplanes to return to their lives early the next day, and their parents lived a three hour drive from my town, so they did not have time to visit.

Then, the oldest brother came back in to the funeral home through the rain. It must be important, I thought. The expression on his face said "gosh, I hate to do this, but my life will be hell if I don't." I insisted on helping any way I could, anyway. They wanted directions to the resturaunt where my husband and I had our wedding reception because they remembered he liked it, and THEY wanted to have a FAMILY dinner. I briefly considered telling him where to go, but gave him directions instead. I had insisted, after all. We had invited them back to my home to relax a bit before their drive home, and they had refused.

I went home relieved that they hadn't accepted my invitation, and called some important people to explain that Jon's father chose the "music" for the service, and that I did not worship Satan. Fortunately, they found the humor in all of it and laughed with me rather than at me.