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The Wake, Funeral & the Party
by MOONLIGHT SKYWRITER (C)2008
I observed from the back of the room this extremely large, dimly lit room in the colors of deep burgundy walls, as the flowers were getting ready to be placed in this so called Chapel.
The guests arrived and signed the deceased guest book, for the one who was placed into the casket he was in a far more better place than the ones who had to look at his sprayed painted beige face and hands.
The funeral was to take place over one month ago. The family had to wait for the relatives to decide whether they wanted to drive, fly or come to this “family” event.
The room as I said, was dimly lit with sconce candles attached to the walls near the casket and the burgundy room’s wallpaper was these bright colored daisies on the wall, in the most pewtred colored yellow.
Enough for the deceased person to come out of his coffin and throw up.
They were so large the next person, would just want to say Get me the hell out of here! Who on earth decided on that color scheme? Well, that is another reason that I sat in the back of the room.
I did not want anyone to see me for what was about to happen later on that day, they would all be shocked.
There were two rooms one was called the crying room, why do they call it that? The deceased cannot hear you cry, so go have a good one!
The crying room was smaller it was brightly lit with these large formal tall candles, as though the guests were about to have dinner on his grave with apples, bananas and grapes on top of his casket. They were tremendous!
Why on earth would anyone want to use three foot candles for a room that only people cry in?
Then there was the other candles, made of small electrical outlets the ones that make the room smell flowery scented. Why on earth you want to make a dead room smell like flowers in the first place? That person is dead, if the person who did his or her job correctly the room should not smell period. I guess these are the less used rooms, that are usually musty and moldy smelling anyways.
Does this bring back memories as a small child when you would visit your grandparents funeral when you were five years old and forced by your braided hair to attend something that was so frightening?
I could relate to this, and my hair was not in braids. There was the guest book. Who needs a guest book for what reason? The deceased person cannot read it, another expense for the grieving people to have.
Why have that to remind them that their loved one went to a better place? What a waste of their money! That is another reason I want to be left to the highest mountain for the vultures to devour me, it’s all about selling you more crap before or after you die.
I noticed as the guest book was being signed, someone from the deceased family wrote their name. No one in the family was a famous celebrity. No one that was invited was named Betty Murphy, and no one in this family was a black person.
My uncle did not converse with much of anyone, he hardly ever went out, he stayed to himself, read and played cards with his one friend and it was me.
I asked the funeral director if that person was really Betty Murphy, he glanced and said. “That is what she wrote, she is Betty Murphy”. To my amazement, that is what that man wrote, but he was trying to be funny. The next person wrote the name Curbin Williams, now I know for certain that there was no Curbin Williams in this family, we did not have any friends like that.
The only friends my uncle had were mafia friends like the Grambinos, the Castameleas and Fartti family.
This member who passed was a hermit, he had few friends, those were bookies and hardly no family, except for me.
But those who wanted to attend his wake was invited nevertheless.
The casket was silver and bronze. The cheapest casket his wife could have ever brought him, all she cared for his money, he had lots but none of it went to her.
The pine casket that covered the tops and sides underneath the silver and it was not even stainless steel it was more aluminum than any other raw material and not one ounce of copper although the color looked bronze, with these two ugly goldish handles, that when they tried to lift him, one of the handles fell off.
Great workmanship who made it that cost my uncle’s family a great deal of money.
The casket was not worth well over two thousand dollars, what a rip off! Cheap labor.
My uncle did not want any special treatment as he knew that one day he will tell someone how to bury him, he just wanted it simple, since my uncle would not have it any other way.
He was a scapegoat for everyone’s money, he would spend other people’s money and spend it on himself.” Good for him”. He deserved it.
He worked for the famous bank was called “Bank of Gimme All That You Got.”
He never told anyone that he had nine houses all over the country until he died. He put the beneficiary of all his houses to one person’s name never his.
So that the government cannot take it away from him, because he never paid any taxes, and thought that he deserved what he earned anyways.
He enjoyed knowing that one day he will own everyone’s estate and loved the challenge that he had with other people’s money.
The casket was lined with two hundred, one thousand dollar bill’s, I guess dear old uncle Charles wanted it this way.
He would collect other people’s money and wanted to be buried with it, we did as he stated in his will. He wanted an open casket to show off all the one’s he stole from.
He marked his bills with the names of the people he stole from. Mr. Harris the vet. Etc.!
Every darn penny from the ones who took his life savings years ago.
The banker who took millions of his savings account from overdrafts, first hand to show them that he “really gave it back to them”!
Meanwhile when everyone saw his lifeless body in the casket, Aunt Mary and her husband Uncle John tried to rip the dollars out of the casket, they tried with her long fingernails to get the bills out of there.
See what did I tell you that we have a very disgraceful family!
The inside had also had a rosary when he was a mere child the one that his mother Matilda gave it to him when he graduated from Harvard as a good luck piece, that his sister stole when she was sixteen.
He stole it back from her. Her inheritance she received nothing. Not one copper penny. Not even the rosary.
The only person who ever received anything from good old Uncle Charles was me. I was to inherit his entire fortune.
The nine houses, all the left over money that he is not buried with, and his array of sports cars. I did not know this until the will was read just a few days ago.
That is why I am sitting alone in the back of the Burgundy room admiring all the phony visitors.
Who did absolutely nothing for him all the years of his life, they mooched from him, now that he is gone they still want his life savings.
My uncle was much smarter than all of them. All they used to do when he was on his death bed decided how they were going to spend his riches.
Not knowing that my uncle did not give anyone anything except for me.
When the constable read the will along with our other cousins, aunts, uncles and of course his eight brothers and sisters and myself, they all made a funny noise and crying and with wonderment on who was to receive his entire estate they all looked at me with these hateful eyes.
Now this is one joke not on Uncle Charles, but on the ones who come to watch my dear uncle who they are placing in the ground.
Did I tell you that the one they are burying is not really Uncle Charles?
It’s his look-a-like twin brother Homer?
Homer died over forty years ago or they all thought.
Uncle Charles, played up a story years ago that Homer was on island in the Caribbean and he died shark fishing and that he was buried out to sea. What a crock.
Uncle Charles wanted to see who really came to his funeral, who were the ones who really cared about him, besides me.
The flowers were beautiful, all one hundred bouquets, some red roses in flower pots, some cards, notes and letters fill the pews.
My Aunt Gertie was there to greet guests as they arrived to sign the guest book at the back of the room.
My aunt Millie crying and those undeserving cousins who said they loved their father were there only to find out that they received nothing from him.
Not knowing until now as they were about to close the casket and bring him to the burial grounds at St. Marks Cemetery behind the funeral home.
Alongside the casket and seated there were nine seats, for the ones who Uncle Charles wanted it for the “special guests”.
He was the last seat in the back, next to mine.
I knew about this, I planned it with him.
I planned his own funeral to find out who really meant to him or not.
He now saw those who really loved him. The eulogy was about to begin, the priest was about to say the farewell speech and getting ready to give the last rites and blessing to a man who was so generous to his church, that his only wife will retrieve later that night the money that Uncle Charles donated to the church.
His only wife was having a fling with Father Haltoid, and produced two disformed children, my two cousins, Rick and Dick.
After the burial everyone was to gather at the family restaurant that Uncle Charles and his son Jr. had for everyone to attend.
There was an abundance of food, more food to feed the entire army of ants and rats in the neighborhood.
I took my glass and wanted to make a toast.
But Uncle Charles wanted to make the last toast himself.
Everyone’s eyes were towards me and who walks out from the back of the kitchen, Dear Uncle Charles.
He made his grand entrance about to give everyone his rendition of the toast and then Aunt Millie fell to the floor dead.
Uncle Dan ran to the cemetery just in time, to see who was really in his Charles’ casket.
It was Uncle Homer, after all these years no one gave his only twin brother a decent burial, they thought that he was gone to sea.
Uncle Homer was dead for more than thirty years, he did not look so hot in his blue suit.
They went to the burial just as they were about to bury Uncle Homer they took him out and placed Aunt Millie in there instead.
Is that a great way to get rid of your wife? My Uncle Charles said.
Note: This is a true story of My Family!