Where Is The Fun In Fun-eral?

“Eventually, they’ll all speak English,” God said. “So in that language make it impossible for anyone to read or write that dreadful ‘funeral’ word, without noticing that it begins with f-u-n.

Never mind that they will stress the syllables in a way that hides what I am trying to do. Their subconscious will decipher it. They will perceive that grief cannot enclose them without providing them a window, through which they may perceive a hint of joy. Indeed, it is a reverent kind of fun."

The fun begins the very moment that man child completes his struggle through his mother’s birth canal and screams, ‘Stawp! Stawp! Stop analyzing me. Don’t hit me. Feed me and let me sleep.’

He shares the fun at hearing his own sound establish his arrival. The fun spreads to those who clothe him, tuck him in and snap photos of his precious image. Their joy increases as they watch him grow: stumbling, falling, rising up and walking off to pursue his purpose. He will enjoy feeding himself, but he’ll not sleep half as much as he thought he would.

His fun continues as he watches his children being born, and their children being born. By then, he will no longer be the center of attention; perhaps never again, unless he lives long enough to find himself as helpless as when he first arrived. Then he will say again, this time in a whisper not a scream, ‘Feed me and let me sleep.’

When death calls, that man will answer gladly, more so if his life has been productive and prosperous in reasonable measure. Those at his bedside will watch his lips move as he shortens his last speech to ‘Let me sleep.’

Tears will flow, but deep inside the hearts will be rejoicing because the man lived well, and had his share of suffering to which death put an end.

He cares nothing about his final rites. Yet his loved ones will prepare a ceremony for his tribute as well as for their comfort. There, God will intervene again to ensure that grief and sorrow do not overwhelm them. He will add His kind of fun to make them balance sorrow with despair.

They will attend a final viewing to mourn because they will not see his face again; and then, they’ll look across the room and see the many faces of acquaintances they have not seen in years. They’ll wipe their tears, and hug and laugh during the reunion.

They will wear blacks, and grays, and pales; but then, the bright reds, and pinks, and yellows will appear in form of flowers. They will stare at the arrangements and be inspired by the kindness and the love, and all the other blessings that flowers symbolize.

Someone will read the eulogy and list all his achievements, citing all the ways in which his death has robbed the world; but the list will include the grandchild who survives him—the one who’s walking in his footsteps. They’ll smile at expectations of his successor multiplying what he did.

They will discuss how only yesterday the man was strong, active and young; and then someone will share the memory of his friend who died while in his youth. They’ll slap each other on the back as they express reasons to be grateful.

They will leave his body in the grave or store his ashes in the urn; but they will take their memories with them--not memories about the tears they shed, but about the reasons that they laughed during the man's funeral.

There is a reverent kind of fun reserved for funerals. Don’t miss it. Grab it when it reaches you, and share its comfort.