This one is going to be a little morbid, and more than a little maudlin so I apologise in advance, but it's something that's been knocking about in my head for a while.
It involves the many people I've encountered who have said something to the effect of, "I don't want anyone to be sad at my funeral. I want it to be a celebration of my life, not a mourning of my death. I want people to be happy that I lived, not sad that I died." I understand the sentiment, and it makes sense. Indeed in a way it's extremely praiseworthy. No-one should want other people to be sad. However, it's not a sentiment that I share.
You see, I do hope people are sad at my funeral. That is, I don't want people to be sad for its own sake. Rather, I hope that I will have lived the kind of life that other people will be sorry to see end. I hope I will have been the kind of person who people are sad to see go. I hope people will miss me. I hope they will mourn me. I hope the event of my death is indeed a sad one for the people I leave behind. I also hope that there are a lot of them to be sad. People whose lives I've touched and who wish to come and say goodbye.
And I don't just want them to be sad; I too want them to be happy I lived. I want them to be proud of me, and proud that they knew me. I want them to feel grateful for the time we had together. I want them to think of me and smile through the tears.
This is a very tall order, so I'd better start living that sort of life, and being that sort of person, because it won't happen by itself.
In the meantime, in thinking about this, I have once again been moved to poetry:
I Hope That They Cry at my Funeral
I hope that they cry
at my funeral,
I hope that they’re
sad I’m no more,
That they’ll grieve
when I’m gone,
Once my life is all
done,
And at last I have
passed through the door.
I hope that they weep
at my funeral,
As they gather from
miles around,
With slow, heavy
tread,
And with low-hanging
head,
To consign me at last
to the ground.
I hope that they’re
quiet at my funeral,
Standing there silent
and still,
With tears in each
eye,
as they carry me by,
And with no-one there
thinking me ill.
I hope that they sing
at my funeral,
With gratitude, heartbreak,
and pride,
The song swelling
loud,
From the hearts of
the crowd,
To be heard by those
passing outside.
I hope that they
stand at my funeral,
With hearts and with
heads held up high.
With smiles through
the tears,
As they think of the
years,
That we shared before
saying goodbye.
Copyright Thomas Jones 2022.
