my papas funeral a couple weeks ago, was saddening he was an amazing person and I miss him dearly he was my world and it hurts knowing i wont see him every year on my birthday
The sounds of “happy” music and the aroma of fresh cut flowers fills the air. We were all at our best. The true moment where we celebrate a life lived to it’s fullest.
The funeral was the first place I saw her. I didn’t know her because she was a friend of a friend of a relative who I distantly knew. I didn’t particularly like this relative but you know what they say: relatives are friends that you wouldn’t have had if you weren’t family. Oh well I guess she was pretty.
death is very sad ground dirt six feet under sad sucks i don’t want to die funerals are horrible to go to. my bff said she didn’t like going to funerals and i said no shit, who does? i don’t think anyone likes going to funerals, if they did they would be one sick mother fucker.
that was the day it happened. the day i became my full self. im a small 18 yar old, once crippled with self esteem issues. but i saw my uncle die, and i saw his dead body, and he, at 55 ,too old to care about his body went with dignity. i can do that too you know.
When the little girl arrived at the funeral home, she had no idea what to expect. The angels were a surprise. Angels? How did she go her whole life without knowing these things existed? She had to die? Oh well. They are so beautiful.
Lyle, High Prairie, family, long family history filled with Columbia River history. Burial done more primitively/realistically. Reminder that we all die the same, no matter how fancy or how basic.
i already got this word and i do not appreciate getting it again. I already expressed my feelings on this. A funeral is a celebration of the life a person had on earth..and a celebration of the life they are about to have. the end.
They walked hand in hand over to the casket where their grandmother was, eyes closed, peaceful nothingness worn on her face. The boy, roughly 5 in age, wiped his eyes and looked up at his older sister, seven years of age. She squeezed his hand tighter and embraced him in a hug. They stood there, crying, comforting each other, as their beloved grandmother was lowered into the ground forever.
My Uncle John’s funeral in south Georgia. I never thought I’d miss him as much as I do every time I go down there. I can’t forget that scalding hot day when we all stood around to remember him. I miss walking to the tower with him and his subtle jokes. Love you Judge Harvey!
the three boys waited for the casket to be dropped into the ground before their tears began to run. The oldest hadn’t cried yet. Their father was gone, and their mother would never be the same. She sat. Her tears were gone. As her soul melted with the death of her husband, it pained her even more her inability to be there for her children.
death is a funny thing. it makes us sad yet we grow from it. people tell us to think about the good times and celebrate what the person did and who they were.
I am going to a funeral tomorrow. The lady was old. Very old. Late nineties. I’m not sad. I’ve been to so many funerals. When they are young. Or parents. Or children. Or tragedies. Those are sad. They last. This will be a celebration, truly. What a life lived. I have no regrets for her. Others, I still cry about. Tomorrow, I will smile.
shit. this is hard to think about. i’ve been to one funeral in my life. and it wasn’t an actual funeral service. it was a visitation. one of my close childhood friends, ian, committed suicide on march 14 of this year. i was such a mess over it. i am not looking forward to going to any other funeral… even though i know its gonna happen eventually.
I cried. I didn’t want this to end, I didn’t want you to go… I’m standing here with a bouquet of black roses in my hand, because I know that what we had is over. It’s gone, it’s dead…
The most heartbreaking funeral plays in my head everyday; It was so unexpected and hurtful. I couldn’t wrap my head around the thought of you not giving me your brightest, jolliest, good mornings.
funerals are absolutely depressing. Everyone’s crying, everyone’s wearing black, and death seems to linger and hang in the air. The atmosphere is one of grieving and sorrow, which is what a person like me HATES. I’m happy-go-lucky (okay, well maybe I’m not, but my mom is, and it sometimes rubs of on me.) I try to stay positive in every situation (working on it!) and smile whenever I can.
“Grandma,” Sarah called patiently as she pulled up at Taggart’s Final Rest Mortuarium and opened her car door. “This is the 15th funeral you’ve been to in the last week.” Yep,” Grandma Turnbull replied as she swung her cane, legs, and tiny frame into the car. “Sometimes, you just need to double up and do two a day. Besides, funerals are the only places that serve Pigs in a Yellow Blanket anymore.” “Wait,” Sarah said. “You go to these funerals because they serve hot dogs wrapped in bacon all surrounded by American cheese?” “Yes,” Grandma Turnbull pulled open her bag, drew out a specimen and popped into her mouth. “They serve them at every single one nowadays. I guess they figure if the grease kills you right there, they have more of a chance of getting your business.”
I went to my aunt’s funeral and had a mixture of melancholy and happiness. Everyone was together, giving each other strength under the heavy gloom. I held my sis’s hand and walked over to the casket to get one last glimpse of her and the smile she had on her face as she went away into pure bliss.
I don’t hate funerals. Most people do, but really, no one close to me has ever died, so I should probably hate them more than I do. People hate them for the wrong reasons: because they’re uncomfortable. People should really hate them because some dead person is laying in a casket and they’re stuck in a stuffy church, but they just hate them because they had to say hi to that awkward person they hate.
Finally activated my account. This is the 3rd time I have written on this subject. Let’s see… I have not had much personal experience with funerals. The only one, I guess you could say, is for my cat Ike, after a month he was adopted from my parents’ friend.
The old man rememebrred the funeral, the music, the flowers, the mourners in their black clothes and their sad eyes. Then he closed his eyes and remembered her. Her eyes, her smile, her favourite blue dress. For a moment she came back to him, as a girl, running and laughing. He opened his eyes, gave one small sigh, then headed for home.
people die, people cry and people get buried. People wear black and everything is sad. Cemeteries full of flowers and tomb stones with engravings. Flowers and green grass.
The pall bearers couldn’t stop giggling as they carried the coffin out of the funeral home. As they crossed to the tiny hearse, they packed the box filled with the body into the back, and all six of them crowded into the front seat of the car and three whoopie cushions deployed. There was no way to keep the affair somber when it was the funeral for Binky the Clown.
Well, I have already written on this subject, so how about another word? 60sec is such a long time, but I guess time is quite relative. Sometimes, it seems to fly by while at times it seem to last forever. I guess it all depends on your perspective.
a funeral can be a very depressing thing, if you do not understand the actual reason why the meeting occurs. You are to be celebrating the life that this person had….and the new life that this person is about to have. Not so depressing eh? :-)
one living one dying. one maker for of it all. how can we expect the beauty of the dawn when we feel so lost in the dark? but it will come. it has to. and if i can offer nothing else, i will stay until the end.
I remember going to a funeral for my grandmother. I actually didn’t go but instead I wrote a poem for her. It was beautiful. I won $25 for it and it only took me 5 minutes to write. It made my mom cry. I old Danny Grandma died with a lot of blood even though that was a lie. I don’t know why I said that. I was drunk. I kissed Ben last night, another drunk mistake.
what the fuck? i have to rewrite this shit about a funeral. god fucking damn. alright so i hit the motherfucking submit button without inputting my fucking info and now i have to rewrite this. I HAVE ONLY BEEN TO ONE FUCKING FUNERAL IN MY 17 YEARS OF MY MISERABLE FUCKING LIFE, MY FUCKING FATHERS. AND IT SEEMED LIKE A DREAM, FROM WHICH I STILL HAVEN’T WOKEN FROM. THIS IS GRAMMATICALLY IN-FUCKING-CORRECT.
Wood and earth were together to take me from this world and to the next. They pounded nails into the top and put salt in my hair. Coins over my eyes, iron over my heart. But I still came back. They couldn’t keep me away.
It was as simple as that. I’ve never felt that way before, and maybe it was a good thing. I felt every nerve ending in my body loosen, it was as if I were finally alive. She was put to rest, but her presence was carried out through the rest of us. Her presence was carried out through me. I can finally feel.
One can be good at funerals. I’m good at small talk. I’m good at a hug. I’m not a crier. But maybe that’s because I have my own private funerals for you every day.
sad sad place, with people dressed in black, and standing around a tomb stone. The sky is overcast, threatening to rain. People are wearing sad expressions and black feathered hats & long dresses. It’s a distressing day. There is an old lady with a young child.
Death. A thing to ponder, or fear, or dread with every cell in your body. I hadn’t been to a funeral until I was 25 years old. How could a person make it to a quarter-century without losing a single person she loves? Luck? Good genes? The ceremony I attended was Catholic and I spent the whole time wondering whether I should stand up or sit down, when I should have been mourning the wonderful woman who lay in the coffin before me.
That day changed my life forever. And the days following it: the viewings, the funeral, the endless days of grieving. And numerous months after the fact, here I sat with my friends, staring up into the night sky. The grass scratched at my legs, but I ignored it because the view of the stars and moon was like nothing I’d seen before. And I forced myself to keep my anger down at the little girl telling me and my friends (that were several years older than her) that we were depressing and miserable. What could I say? We were more experienced than her, in unforgiving ways. There was a reason for my depressing outlook on life. But I wasn’t about to explain myself to an ignorant child. She’d figure it out. As for me, I wished her away and stared into the sky’s enveloping darkness.
I’ve never actually been to a funeral because of my lack of experience with death. We had a memorial for my grandfather and sent a balloon in the shape of a motorcycle up into the air because he wanted one so badly. I don’t remember much about it except that my family friend was on her phone and laughing during the speeches.
well sometimes i think what is really happening here? does anyone else know whats going on? or is it just me here alone with my brain?
my papas funeral a couple weeks ago, was saddening he was an amazing person and I miss him dearly he was my world and it hurts knowing i wont see him every year on my birthday
The sounds of “happy” music and the aroma of fresh cut flowers fills the air. We were all at our best. The true moment where we celebrate a life lived to it’s fullest.
The funeral was the first place I saw her. I didn’t know her because she was a friend of a friend of a relative who I distantly knew. I didn’t particularly like this relative but you know what they say: relatives are friends that you wouldn’t have had if you weren’t family. Oh well I guess she was pretty.
death is very sad ground dirt six feet under sad sucks i don’t want to die funerals are horrible to go to. my bff said she didn’t like going to funerals and i said no shit, who does? i don’t think anyone likes going to funerals, if they did they would be one sick mother fucker.
a place to say goodbye
a kiss
cold lips
mine and your cheek is cold too
i forgive you
your stone eyelashes say the same
A Funeral Is The Death ceremony of a person. A sad time. A time Where everyone mourns. Black Is The official colour In a funeral. Th
that was the day it happened. the day i became my full self. im a small 18 yar old, once crippled with self esteem issues. but i saw my uncle die, and i saw his dead body, and he, at 55 ,too old to care about his body went with dignity. i can do that too you know.
When the little girl arrived at the funeral home, she had no idea what to expect. The angels were a surprise. Angels? How did she go her whole life without knowing these things existed? She had to die? Oh well. They are so beautiful.
Lyle, High Prairie, family, long family history filled with Columbia River history. Burial done more primitively/realistically. Reminder that we all die the same, no matter how fancy or how basic.
i already got this word and i do not appreciate getting it again. I already expressed my feelings on this. A funeral is a celebration of the life a person had on earth..and a celebration of the life they are about to have. the end.
They walked hand in hand over to the casket where their grandmother was, eyes closed, peaceful nothingness worn on her face. The boy, roughly 5 in age, wiped his eyes and looked up at his older sister, seven years of age. She squeezed his hand tighter and embraced him in a hug. They stood there, crying, comforting each other, as their beloved grandmother was lowered into the ground forever.
My Uncle John’s funeral in south Georgia. I never thought I’d miss him as much as I do every time I go down there. I can’t forget that scalding hot day when we all stood around to remember him. I miss walking to the tower with him and his subtle jokes. Love you Judge Harvey!
the three boys waited for the casket to be dropped into the ground before their tears began to run. The oldest hadn’t cried yet. Their father was gone, and their mother would never be the same. She sat. Her tears were gone. As her soul melted with the death of her husband, it pained her even more her inability to be there for her children.
death is a funny thing. it makes us sad yet we grow from it. people tell us to think about the good times and celebrate what the person did and who they were.
I am going to a funeral tomorrow. The lady was old. Very old. Late nineties. I’m not sad. I’ve been to so many funerals. When they are young. Or parents. Or children. Or tragedies. Those are sad. They last. This will be a celebration, truly. What a life lived. I have no regrets for her. Others, I still cry about. Tomorrow, I will smile.
shit. this is hard to think about. i’ve been to one funeral in my life. and it wasn’t an actual funeral service. it was a visitation. one of my close childhood friends, ian, committed suicide on march 14 of this year. i was such a mess over it. i am not looking forward to going to any other funeral… even though i know its gonna happen eventually.
I cried. I didn’t want this to end, I didn’t want you to go… I’m standing here with a bouquet of black roses in my hand, because I know that what we had is over. It’s gone, it’s dead…
The most heartbreaking funeral plays in my head everyday; It was so unexpected and hurtful. I couldn’t wrap my head around the thought of you not giving me your brightest, jolliest, good mornings.
funerals are absolutely depressing. Everyone’s crying, everyone’s wearing black, and death seems to linger and hang in the air. The atmosphere is one of grieving and sorrow, which is what a person like me HATES. I’m happy-go-lucky (okay, well maybe I’m not, but my mom is, and it sometimes rubs of on me.) I try to stay positive in every situation (working on it!) and smile whenever I can.
“Grandma,” Sarah called patiently as she pulled up at Taggart’s Final Rest Mortuarium and opened her car door. “This is the 15th funeral you’ve been to in the last week.” Yep,” Grandma Turnbull replied as she swung her cane, legs, and tiny frame into the car. “Sometimes, you just need to double up and do two a day. Besides, funerals are the only places that serve Pigs in a Yellow Blanket anymore.” “Wait,” Sarah said. “You go to these funerals because they serve hot dogs wrapped in bacon all surrounded by American cheese?” “Yes,” Grandma Turnbull pulled open her bag, drew out a specimen and popped into her mouth. “They serve them at every single one nowadays. I guess they figure if the grease kills you right there, they have more of a chance of getting your business.”
I went to my aunt’s funeral and had a mixture of melancholy and happiness. Everyone was together, giving each other strength under the heavy gloom. I held my sis’s hand and walked over to the casket to get one last glimpse of her and the smile she had on her face as she went away into pure bliss.
I don’t hate funerals. Most people do, but really, no one close to me has ever died, so I should probably hate them more than I do. People hate them for the wrong reasons: because they’re uncomfortable. People should really hate them because some dead person is laying in a casket and they’re stuck in a stuffy church, but they just hate them because they had to say hi to that awkward person they hate.
Finally activated my account. This is the 3rd time I have written on this subject. Let’s see… I have not had much personal experience with funerals. The only one, I guess you could say, is for my cat Ike, after a month he was adopted from my parents’ friend.
The old man rememebrred the funeral, the music, the flowers, the mourners in their black clothes and their sad eyes. Then he closed his eyes and remembered her. Her eyes, her smile, her favourite blue dress. For a moment she came back to him, as a girl, running and laughing. He opened his eyes, gave one small sigh, then headed for home.
people die, people cry and people get buried. People wear black and everything is sad. Cemeteries full of flowers and tomb stones with engravings. Flowers and green grass.
The pall bearers couldn’t stop giggling as they carried the coffin out of the funeral home. As they crossed to the tiny hearse, they packed the box filled with the body into the back, and all six of them crowded into the front seat of the car and three whoopie cushions deployed. There was no way to keep the affair somber when it was the funeral for Binky the Clown.
Well, I have already written on this subject, so how about another word? 60sec is such a long time, but I guess time is quite relative. Sometimes, it seems to fly by while at times it seem to last forever. I guess it all depends on your perspective.
a funeral can be a very depressing thing, if you do not understand the actual reason why the meeting occurs. You are to be celebrating the life that this person had….and the new life that this person is about to have. Not so depressing eh? :-)
one living one dying. one maker for of it all. how can we expect the beauty of the dawn when we feel so lost in the dark? but it will come. it has to. and if i can offer nothing else, i will stay until the end.
I remember going to a funeral for my grandmother. I actually didn’t go but instead I wrote a poem for her. It was beautiful. I won $25 for it and it only took me 5 minutes to write. It made my mom cry. I old Danny Grandma died with a lot of blood even though that was a lie. I don’t know why I said that. I was drunk. I kissed Ben last night, another drunk mistake.
what the fuck? i have to rewrite this shit about a funeral. god fucking damn. alright so i hit the motherfucking submit button without inputting my fucking info and now i have to rewrite this. I HAVE ONLY BEEN TO ONE FUCKING FUNERAL IN MY 17 YEARS OF MY MISERABLE FUCKING LIFE, MY FUCKING FATHERS. AND IT SEEMED LIKE A DREAM, FROM WHICH I STILL HAVEN’T WOKEN FROM. THIS IS GRAMMATICALLY IN-FUCKING-CORRECT.
Wood and earth were together to take me from this world and to the next. They pounded nails into the top and put salt in my hair. Coins over my eyes, iron over my heart. But I still came back. They couldn’t keep me away.
It was as simple as that. I’ve never felt that way before, and maybe it was a good thing. I felt every nerve ending in my body loosen, it was as if I were finally alive. She was put to rest, but her presence was carried out through the rest of us. Her presence was carried out through me. I can finally feel.
One can be good at funerals. I’m good at small talk. I’m good at a hug. I’m not a crier. But maybe that’s because I have my own private funerals for you every day.
sad sad place, with people dressed in black, and standing around a tomb stone. The sky is overcast, threatening to rain. People are wearing sad expressions and black feathered hats & long dresses. It’s a distressing day. There is an old lady with a young child.
Death. A thing to ponder, or fear, or dread with every cell in your body. I hadn’t been to a funeral until I was 25 years old. How could a person make it to a quarter-century without losing a single person she loves? Luck? Good genes? The ceremony I attended was Catholic and I spent the whole time wondering whether I should stand up or sit down, when I should have been mourning the wonderful woman who lay in the coffin before me.
That day changed my life forever. And the days following it: the viewings, the funeral, the endless days of grieving. And numerous months after the fact, here I sat with my friends, staring up into the night sky. The grass scratched at my legs, but I ignored it because the view of the stars and moon was like nothing I’d seen before. And I forced myself to keep my anger down at the little girl telling me and my friends (that were several years older than her) that we were depressing and miserable. What could I say? We were more experienced than her, in unforgiving ways. There was a reason for my depressing outlook on life. But I wasn’t about to explain myself to an ignorant child. She’d figure it out. As for me, I wished her away and stared into the sky’s enveloping darkness.
I’ve never actually been to a funeral because of my lack of experience with death. We had a memorial for my grandfather and sent a balloon in the shape of a motorcycle up into the air because he wanted one so badly. I don’t remember much about it except that my family friend was on her phone and laughing during the speeches.
I think funerals are so depressing. It makes me want to cry, but at least an angel is being called to God. RIP who ever dies in life!!!