I Laughed, Most Cried

In the past week, I attended two funerals of people I did not know at all, Amy Ratos' mom and my great aunt. They were both eerily similar, both were for old great grandmothers, both of whom had changed lives for the better, both died of cancer, and both were Christians. But for all their similarities, their funerals were very different.

For Amy Ratos' mom's funeral, we went to a swanky building chunked with marble and yellow lights to goldify the the yellow walls. Smartly dressed, sombre looking, ushers guided us. In the air conditioned parlor, we sat on leather seats that reminded me of Golden Screen Cinemas' gold class seats.

My great aunts funeral, in Taiping, was much simpler.It was in front of her house, and there were no ushers to guide us and look somber. Seats were made of plastic and we were cooled only by a couple of fans.

In truth, I felt no sadness throughout the funerals. I was imperious to it all, I felt no tugging at m heartstrings. I laughed with my cousins and my sister. I ate peanuts and drank "funeral" water. I laughed at the comical pastor who managed to drag one line, in heaven there is no pain or sickness, into a twenty minute sermon.

But as I saw my great aunt's coffin being lowered, I realized that all I do will come to nothing. We may be sent off in a fancy parlor, but what does it matter to the dead person? Does anything matter to a dead person at all?

Of course not. The only thing that matters is how you are remembered. Realizing that has made all the difference.