I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints

G passed away yesterday afternoon.
He lived next door to my parents my whole life-or my whole remembered life anyway. He had the same basic decorative scheme as long as he lived there...kept E's room for her long after she moved out-she moved back in when he got sick...right back into her room. He had one of the most extreme collections of rock music I've ever seen-stacks and stacks and stacks of vinyl until CDs came along and there's stacks and stacks and stacks of CDs. He loved music and could name the drummer bass player and writer and any other minute detail that might at some point come up in conversation. He loved pizza and beer and brats. He smoked Winston cigarettes and collected NASCAR memorabilia. He wasn't an exciting person-but he was dependable. He'd do whatever he could for people he cared about. He was family-not blood family--but family nonetheless.
The last time I saw him before I moved to Nashville we ate pizza and drank beer and watched NASCAR with the volume down while listening to Trans-Siberian Orchestra. It was July. That was Gary in a nutshell.
The last time I saw him he was out in his driveway raking the gravel. I scared the hell out of him by saying "Hello" before he saw me. These are better memories than one could regularly hope for. Sort of like before Grandma died and she remembered the lyrics to "Let me Call You Sweetheart" and seemed to actually know who I was for the first time in awhile. Sort of-not really-cuz G was in his mid-50's and Grandma in her 80's but I am looking for comfort. Dying in the midst of middle age is so unreasonable. I have friends that are nearly that old-barely more than a decade difference in age. Not fair. I suppose that fair don't mean much-when he recovered from cancer once but kept smoking--we make our fates I guess. But, there are things we aren't strong enough to overcome--that is I suppose why they're called DEADLY sins.
So-there's no calling hours and there will be only the smallest of service-probably just to appease the older generation that will have to bury her child-not for the deceased or the living. I could go home and would in a minute if it would matter...I won't tho. G knows I'm thinking about him--if I went home it wouldn't do any good...won't bring him back.
Such.Is.Life.
I should have that embroidered on a pillow or tattooed on my wrist.
BTW-the tattoo I want:
an oroborus with my ring as the decoration on the snake's body and a bright red eye
I've wanted it since I was 20 when I saw Scully get one on the X-Files (minus the ring decoration)
It seems to me that if I've wanted something for close to a decade it's not such a bad idea to go 'head and get it.
AT MY FUNERAL:
I want Could we Start Again Please from Jesus Christ Superstar played instead of a traditional service.
I want Matthew 17:15 and John 3:16 read instead of Psalm 23---my family will then promptly need buried since they will die that I want any Bible verse at all
Course-they might not completely die since I chose an Andrew Lloyd Webber song to be played...that has to negate whatever I believe right there.
Cremate me. I'm gone-there's no good reason to put me in the ground. I ain't comin' back-much as I might want to. Plant a lilac bush or some rhubarb...something that will carry over from year to year and remind people I existed.
After the service-and it better not be more than 22 minutes long...I want it to be like a rerun of a sit-com...I want everyone to get plastered on Jameson's and Smithwicks and overdose on cheese enchiladas and wings until every remaining person is laying on the ground longing for a cigarette listening to a metacyberstream Todd Snider, Billy Joel, Black 47, BR549, etc etc and on and on and whatever else might come along in the future (and there damn well better be a LOT of stuff to come along in the MANY decades I plan to live).
The first person I catch crying and being despondant gets haunted by me.
Seriously.
Peace-GH.
Peace.