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Any family that would post a public obituary like that was probably a big part of the dead man's problems.
If you can't speak respectfully of the dead, say not one word.
Why? Being dead doesn't elevate a person to martyr status; it just makes a person join the ranks of all the other people who have ceased to breathe and think. I watch a lot of true crime shows and find it odd how every single person on the shows are spoken of as if they are Mother Teresa. "Kelly was the sweetest person you'll ever meet; hardworking, honest, and totally devoted to her children." "Mark was an amazing accountant. He spent every spare moment with his girlfriend and son, and was an accomplished underwater basket weaver." Never do we hear a word about their mountains of debt, drinking problems, or rage issues. The dead person should be spoken of in death as they were in life. Why should we put lipstick on a rotting pig?
If you can't speak respectfully of the dead, say not one word.
I saw that once. Traveled MIL's viewing/funeral. THe only one's there were immediate family. Not one neighbor/church member/town folk showed up. It was creepy.
Last edited by longneckone; 02-12-2017 at 09:47 AM..
I have a very close relative who I have not seen in decades. When he dies - probably in the next couple of decades - his passing will be unremarked by me. I will not dignify it with any commentary at all, and I certainly won't embarrass myself by making an asinine public spectacle.
I agree. I too have a close relative (parent) who was abusive and when they die I won't speak glowingly of them, nor will I bash them in such a public way. I try to live my life the complete opposite of theirs, and that's statement enough for me, at least in public. I save the complaints for the therapist and my closest loved ones.
If I had to write that parent's obituary it would be date of birth and death, spouse's name, children's names, and time and location of funeral. No need to add whether they were loved or hated. Good or bad. Lived too long or not long enough.
I think the main reason for the custom of not speaking ill of the dead is that they are not there to defend themselves. Low blow, even if everyone in the congregation or reading the obit is nodding in agreement.
At some point in even the most vile existence of life, a person may have done a good deed.
The problem is we are more apt to believe the evil in others then to seek out the good in their entire life history.
I recall attending to an alzheimer's patient....And we had to tell her that her husband passed away. He visited her every day! She looked right at us all and with this serious look goes: Ohh! He was no damn good anyway!! My Mom was the nurse in charge that day...and she laughed so hard! I said Mom, this lady just lost her husband.... and my mom said...darling, its better for her to scoff it off then wallow in the true nature of this loss....she will not have to endure grief like the rest of us...
I think of that often and feel much sorrow for a person with this ailment....it truly is the longest goodbye of oneself...
Sounds like he was a lifelong alcoholic and mentally ill. They can certainly cause a lot of pain to the people around them. Glad we are understanding the mentally ill better now than they did when this man (and his family) could have been helped.
He doesn't sound mentally ill. He sounds like a mega-jerk, is all.
At some point in even the most vile existence of life, a person may have done a good deed.
The problem is we are more apt to believe the evil in others then to seek out the good in their entire life history.
I recall attending to an alzheimer's patient....And we had to tell her that her husband passed away. He visited her every day! She looked right at us all and with this serious look goes: Ohh! He was no damn good anyway!! My Mom was the nurse in charge that day...and she laughed so hard! I said Mom, this lady just lost her husband.... and my mom said...darling, its better for her to scoff it off then wallow in the true nature of this loss....she will not have to endure grief like the rest of us...
I think of that often and feel much sorrow for a person with this ailment....it truly is the longest goodbye of oneself...
Do you really believe a few good deeds should eclipse years and years of malicious behavior?
Well, this isn't along the lines of that obituary but it is SORT of funny.
My grandmother loved to sleep. She went to bed about 7 pm and would sleep a good twelve hours. If she felt bad, she thought a good nap would be all it would take to feel better.
Consequently, she didn't go to the doctor till her cancer had spread all over her entire body. Some things are not cured by a nap or a good night's rest.
But anyway, when my dad and I went to pick out her headstone, we chose one that said, "He giveth His beloved sleep."
This reminds me of my grandfather's funeral. He hadn't darkened the doors of a church in decades. He left a string of ex wives and at least one illegitimate child in his wake. In his youth, he had looks, charm and money and he rode that wave as long as he could, but eventually he ran out of all three.
We really weren't sure what to do with him when he finally died (his last year he thought I was one of his ex wives and consequently I got more positive attention from him in that year than I had my entire life - though it always made me nervous that he might make a pass at me). My dad was his only recognized child so we were sort of stuck with the whole funeral thing.
My dad decided to be a decent sort and give him a small but tasteful funeral in the tiny country church that my dad's grandparents had attended so many years ago. Preacher was included.
Now this preacher had never met my grandfather. He knew nothing redeeming about him. And yet he got up there and talked about my grandfather as if he was St Jude or the Apostle Paul!
The bizarre thing is - I am almost ashamed to tell this, but I got the giggles during this diatribe. Of course, I was horrified at myself, but the more I tried not to laugh, the more it bubbled up inside me. It started because I noticed a certain verbal effect that this country preacher had - a sort of lilt at the end of each sentence, like an extra syllable or something added to the last word.
Then I made the fatal mistake of cutting my eyes over to my oldest son (who was about 14 at the time) at the exact instant the preacher did it again - and OMG. HE started to laugh - silently of course, but his shoulders up next to mine started shaking...then mine started shaking...and just about the time we'd get it under control, the preacher would do it AGAIN and we'd be sitting there side by side, with our heads bowed, hands pressed against our mouths, shaking like leaves on a tree!
THEN...as if that wasn't bad enough (we both actually started sweating as we tried our best not to burst into peals of laughter), my cousin down at the end of the pew felt the pew shaking...and she very solemnly passed a box of tissues down the pew. Bless her heart, she thought we were crying!
That just about completely did me in. At that point, the preacher was ready for the family to walk past the coffin for one last look and then exit left. I don't know how I made it up there - and I certainly wasn't paying my last respects! As soon as I got out that door and into the little holding area for family, my mother, who also thought I'd been crying, opened both her arms to fold me in a big hug and she said, "Poor baby - I had no idea you would be so upset!"
That was IT. My son and I burst into a weird sort of screaming laughter and began laughing so hard we actually DID start crying!
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