Always die first, that is, if you want a lavish funeral.
Context: My friend is leaving for her aunt's funeral. She and her family will make a four-hour drive on Friday night and return home Saturday night. This is doable because it's just a graveside service she tells me.
"You see, her sister (my friend's other aunt) just died two months ago and we had a big funeral. Her sisters went through her saved letters and read excerpts. It was a really great funeral."
In my friend's eyes, and in her family's eyes, they don't need to have a big funeral just two months after putting on a very big funeral. Everyone was worn out from the first funeral.
For my uncle Doug, his family had a big, official funeral. His brother flew out from South Carolina; I drove two hours to attend. But when his wife, my aunt died, one month later, my uncle didn't fly out, and I didn't drive up.
I mention to my friend that I understand well. Tony and his siblings are unsure what they will do for their mother upon her passing. Big funeral? Maybe not. A memorial service? Definitely of some kind or another.
To prove her point, my friend says and asks, "And I bet when Tony's father died, he had a big funeral, right?"
"He did."
But I don't think it's on the table for his mother--in part because she will die second.
There's an exception to this assumption. My father died first, and we had an official funeral--against his wishes. In the first few days after his death, knowing he didn't want a funeral, we deliberated what we should do. We decided on a graveside service. But it was August in Las Vegas. So we needed a tent for shade. And then we needed chairs. Doable.
On the morning of this decision, on a walk to clear my head, I distinctly heard my father's voice, "You can't have all those people standing out in the heat."
The graveside memorial was moved to the air conditioned chapel in the mortuary. We kept it to an hour, and the graveside dedication was short. We never let relatives and friends stand in the Vegas heat.
Our compromise was sanctioned by my father’s voice. And we kept the no-funeral to an hour. Certainly that kept it from being a real funeral.
But back to my mom. I am sure Mom wants a funeral. The bigger the better. She's a people person and we expect her funeral will be well-attended. She is the last living aunt of our generation. She is loved and revered--and she's not the type of woman to accept an excuse for not having a funeral, just because she didn't die first.
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