Scared, and dark. Things are confusing. Crying. Laughing. Emotion swirling, wind blowing, falling down and down and down. Dark tunnel, light growing smaller. Where are the stars? No stars in the sky. Where is the moon. Only the black, empty fabric of space.
My grane as funeral Was the saddest moment of my life so far, even worse than my friend’s. I can’t forget the feeling I had when I walked into the room and saw the coffin
I wish I could understand that to die is the most normal thing in the world…if only I could get used to the idea….I will enjoy more this kind of parties.
They suck.
There is nothing worse than them.
It feels like the end of something.
Nothing comes from it.
You are saying goodbye for the final time.
Its a crying fest.
No one ever comes out happy.
Its full of flowers and mixed in with a crap ton of tissues.
It is the most dreaded event of someone’s life.
There we sat, just him and I, the two of us, as lifeless as the one we had just received news of. He was a quiet man, but well-spoken, and far more well-versed than those I had known in many another life. We sat there, him and I, in deathly silence. We were expected to attend the funeral of what may have been the greatest man to live—our father. And, yet, the obligation called, but we felt nothing. It was not the emptiness of shock, but simply that fact that we had never known him. And, there we sat, just him and I, the two of us.
I’ve never been to a funeral but laying in bed with my boyfriend one might he told me about one he went to for his classmate’s dad and how he will never forget when the boy kissed the casket. saddest thing hes seen. and i new i found a wonderful guy.
A funeral is a great place to preach the gospel. People can’t help but think about death. Not that the gospel is about death, but life. Life means more when death is right in your face. The gospel is the antidote to funerals. In Jesus, resurrection!
My grandmother died about 3 years ago. Her funeral, in a way, was meaningless. I rarely felt close to her, and if I ever did, I never knew. I remember being “best friends” with her when I was young, but it seems like a dream. A dream that is meaningless.
I remember my grandmother’s funeral. It was so bad. I felt numb inside. I wasn’t even sad at that point because I was so young and it was such a shocking event. But I felt like I had to pretend to be sad for the sake of everyone else there. Like I was supposed to be sad. Not that I wasn’t upset, but it seems like privately mourning might be better.
The funeral was hard on her as she looked down at his still form. He looked peaceful for once in his life. More mourning people walked in, wiping the tears from their eyes.
funeral is a sad word, i wasnt expecting to click past that screen and see…..that. ive only ever been to one funeral (i think? unless i went to one when i was too young to remember) and it was really sad -(of course)-. but they are a way to say goodbye…..
James’ funeral was quiet and serene. The birds were chirping, the priest was reading from a book, and all the guests were listening quietly, with their heads bowed.
One time I went to a funeral in Virginia. It was for the passing of my great-grandmother, and was the second funeral that year. The first one was for the passing of my uncle, which was really tough because that was the second child my grandmother lost in her lifetime. But, at the end of that year was my aunt’s wedding, so I guess it was a happily ever after.
I can’t do this, it’s to much. I turn my body away from the casket and let myself cry. He wouldn’t want me to cry, but here I cry. At his funeral I cry.
I’ve never been to a funeral before, so I was a little excited to go to this one. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t excited about Grandma Jean’s funeral, but I was looking forward to mourning for her. I heard you’re supposed to wear black at funerals so I wore my black spaghetti strap dress that I’d worn to Samantha’s Sweet 16.
It was sad, but it was a fact of life. Here her mother would lay in the ground. Here they would honor her. With one little ceremony she would be laid to rest. That was all she needed, that’s all she would want.
Her mother would be laid to rest on a bright sunny day, at this funeral.
thats a bad feeling, someone died.makes me think of the big day but it’s also one of those things that dread on you as i think it only happens during weekends..a little bit like weddings that you have to go to if you are hungover..what to wear is not a qeustion, i guess u need to make sure u have white shirts
Bill Moorhead was my grandfather.. and best friend. He couldn’t talk, he couldn’t walk, and he couldn’t move, yet he could lighten a whole room- He had Lou Geregh’s disease. When he died, I felt like a piece of me was missing, my best friend.. gone.
there was a death at the funeral. grandma just lost it when she saw grandpa’s lifeless body just.. laying there in the casket. lost it so bad that she just keeled over and died, the huge bug eyed sunglasses she had insisted on wearing to the service just tumbling right off her head as she hit the ground.
One day I was sitting at my own funeral. It was quite interesting to see the folks crying, sobbing and then I looked at the corner of my eye and saw someone laughing with joy. Then I started laughing. Everyone turned around to look at me and I died.
The saddest thing that ever occurred in human history. Its paying respect for someone that you loved, and that you lost. There is usually crying involved. The final goodbye, because once its over, you have to pit them to rest.
funerals are mostly sad occasions. Family members and friends gathering around to morn the lost of a loved one. But this particular one i visited was a odd one at best. their were no tears or…
Sometimes I couldn’t even stand to look inside my closet. It was always hanging in the back; I made sure of it. But somehow, it always managed to find its way back into my line of sight – back into my life.
the funeral was beautiful. just like her life.
she was a free spirit and from the amount of people that showed up, she clearly touched a lot of people’s souls.
i believe she is more at peace now. i believe she is watching and i believe she agrees…. her funeral was beautiful.
death. ahh death, a sad thing. i really dont know what to say, i went to a funeral once. it was sad and creepy. made me feel wierd. dead people, not my thing.
The funeral was tough, she couldn’t take her eyes off his still form. He looked like he was finally in peace ,something they all secretly wished for. More mourners came shuffling through the doors, wipping tears away from their eyes.
the death of means of man and a ceremony in lovely purples. its a simple song and woven in the mysteries of many. it’s never over, it’s over now and time to say goodbye. little children are liars and grown men are crying and we never really know what the fuck it means. it’s never as simple as it seems.
I didn’t want to go to them when I was younger. I wanted to remember people the way they were. I didn’t want to go to memorial services either. I was aggravated. Felt like it was private. I felt like I’d be annoyed with other people there.
Who were they to impose their feelings on me or expect me to act a certain way? They didn’t know the deceased the way I did. They knew them the way THEY did, which was fine, but I didn’t want to deal with them. I wanted to grieve in my own way.
Now I attend them, and can’t think of a reason why I wouldn’t, unless I expected to run into people there I didn’t want to see.
seeing the body, lying there… like their just asleep, as if they’d wake up and laugh again, talk to you, share their secrets. funerals are for remembering the person, to show how much you love and care for that person, and see how many people have come to respect them.
A funeral:
a depressing communal gathering,
in which we note how small
death makes us all.
We lie inside the coffin lids,
and lie from lecterns high,
and tell the gathered grieving
how wonderful life was
and could always be.
funeral. black. lace. weird smells. burgundy carpet. stairs that I shouldn’t go down. they happen too often. people cry. video montage. will I ever feel that sad?
The procession of black-clad forms mooved slowly and silently through the streets. The rain beat down upon hats, upon umbrellas. and then blended with tears. The sorrow was tangible. And yet, no words of comfort were spoken. How could there be?
Funeral. The word funeral has such a sad connotation to it, because a funeral is a sad occasion of course. Recently though, i have learned that a funeral can be a celebration. A celebration because someone we love has gotten to go to a better place, where they can be happy. Somewhere much better than here. Funeral.
A funeral of the soul, I decided I would title it (at least in my brain). It was ceremonial, sort of, watching the memories turn from vibrant images to a pile of blackened remains. They danced through the flames, ascended from the paper into the sky and out of my heart. I would never again be haunted by his ghost, for we were done, and the memories were burned.
Scared, and dark. Things are confusing. Crying. Laughing. Emotion swirling, wind blowing, falling down and down and down. Dark tunnel, light growing smaller. Where are the stars? No stars in the sky. Where is the moon. Only the black, empty fabric of space.
My grane as funeral Was the saddest moment of my life so far, even worse than my friend’s. I can’t forget the feeling I had when I walked into the room and saw the coffin
Sad time with tears and heavy hearts. Memories of times gone by and never to be again. Celebration of life with family, friends, acquaintances.
I wish I could understand that to die is the most normal thing in the world…if only I could get used to the idea….I will enjoy more this kind of parties.
They suck.
There is nothing worse than them.
It feels like the end of something.
Nothing comes from it.
You are saying goodbye for the final time.
Its a crying fest.
No one ever comes out happy.
Its full of flowers and mixed in with a crap ton of tissues.
It is the most dreaded event of someone’s life.
There we sat, just him and I, the two of us, as lifeless as the one we had just received news of. He was a quiet man, but well-spoken, and far more well-versed than those I had known in many another life. We sat there, him and I, in deathly silence. We were expected to attend the funeral of what may have been the greatest man to live—our father. And, yet, the obligation called, but we felt nothing. It was not the emptiness of shock, but simply that fact that we had never known him. And, there we sat, just him and I, the two of us.
I’ve never been to a funeral but laying in bed with my boyfriend one might he told me about one he went to for his classmate’s dad and how he will never forget when the boy kissed the casket. saddest thing hes seen. and i new i found a wonderful guy.
A funeral is a great place to preach the gospel. People can’t help but think about death. Not that the gospel is about death, but life. Life means more when death is right in your face. The gospel is the antidote to funerals. In Jesus, resurrection!
My grandmother died about 3 years ago. Her funeral, in a way, was meaningless. I rarely felt close to her, and if I ever did, I never knew. I remember being “best friends” with her when I was young, but it seems like a dream. A dream that is meaningless.
I remember my grandmother’s funeral. It was so bad. I felt numb inside. I wasn’t even sad at that point because I was so young and it was such a shocking event. But I felt like I had to pretend to be sad for the sake of everyone else there. Like I was supposed to be sad. Not that I wasn’t upset, but it seems like privately mourning might be better.
The funeral was hard on her as she looked down at his still form. He looked peaceful for once in his life. More mourning people walked in, wiping the tears from their eyes.
It’s my funeral…
funeral is a sad word, i wasnt expecting to click past that screen and see…..that. ive only ever been to one funeral (i think? unless i went to one when i was too young to remember) and it was really sad -(of course)-. but they are a way to say goodbye…..
James’ funeral was quiet and serene. The birds were chirping, the priest was reading from a book, and all the guests were listening quietly, with their heads bowed.
One time I went to a funeral in Virginia. It was for the passing of my great-grandmother, and was the second funeral that year. The first one was for the passing of my uncle, which was really tough because that was the second child my grandmother lost in her lifetime. But, at the end of that year was my aunt’s wedding, so I guess it was a happily ever after.
“It is on this day that we lay-”
I can’t do this, it’s to much. I turn my body away from the casket and let myself cry. He wouldn’t want me to cry, but here I cry. At his funeral I cry.
I’ve never been to a funeral before, so I was a little excited to go to this one. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t excited about Grandma Jean’s funeral, but I was looking forward to mourning for her. I heard you’re supposed to wear black at funerals so I wore my black spaghetti strap dress that I’d worn to Samantha’s Sweet 16.
It was sad, but it was a fact of life. Here her mother would lay in the ground. Here they would honor her. With one little ceremony she would be laid to rest. That was all she needed, that’s all she would want.
Her mother would be laid to rest on a bright sunny day, at this funeral.
thats a bad feeling, someone died.makes me think of the big day but it’s also one of those things that dread on you as i think it only happens during weekends..a little bit like weddings that you have to go to if you are hungover..what to wear is not a qeustion, i guess u need to make sure u have white shirts
Bill Moorhead was my grandfather.. and best friend. He couldn’t talk, he couldn’t walk, and he couldn’t move, yet he could lighten a whole room- He had Lou Geregh’s disease. When he died, I felt like a piece of me was missing, my best friend.. gone.
there was a death at the funeral. grandma just lost it when she saw grandpa’s lifeless body just.. laying there in the casket. lost it so bad that she just keeled over and died, the huge bug eyed sunglasses she had insisted on wearing to the service just tumbling right off her head as she hit the ground.
One day I was sitting at my own funeral. It was quite interesting to see the folks crying, sobbing and then I looked at the corner of my eye and saw someone laughing with joy. Then I started laughing. Everyone turned around to look at me and I died.
The saddest thing that ever occurred in human history. Its paying respect for someone that you loved, and that you lost. There is usually crying involved. The final goodbye, because once its over, you have to pit them to rest.
funerals are mostly sad occasions. Family members and friends gathering around to morn the lost of a loved one. But this particular one i visited was a odd one at best. their were no tears or…
Sometimes I couldn’t even stand to look inside my closet. It was always hanging in the back; I made sure of it. But somehow, it always managed to find its way back into my line of sight – back into my life.
That little black dress.
the funeral was beautiful. just like her life.
she was a free spirit and from the amount of people that showed up, she clearly touched a lot of people’s souls.
i believe she is more at peace now. i believe she is watching and i believe she agrees…. her funeral was beautiful.
death. ahh death, a sad thing. i really dont know what to say, i went to a funeral once. it was sad and creepy. made me feel wierd. dead people, not my thing.
gran torino, black, coloring book, pale, blonde, young, laughter, unaware
The funeral was tough, she couldn’t take her eyes off his still form. He looked like he was finally in peace ,something they all secretly wished for. More mourners came shuffling through the doors, wipping tears away from their eyes.
remorse, darkness, gloomy, rainy, death, dead, regret, fatality, cemetery, no light, no life, quiet, calm, peaceful, green, white
the death of means of man and a ceremony in lovely purples. its a simple song and woven in the mysteries of many. it’s never over, it’s over now and time to say goodbye. little children are liars and grown men are crying and we never really know what the fuck it means. it’s never as simple as it seems.
Funeral
I didn’t want to go to them when I was younger. I wanted to remember people the way they were. I didn’t want to go to memorial services either. I was aggravated. Felt like it was private. I felt like I’d be annoyed with other people there.
Who were they to impose their feelings on me or expect me to act a certain way? They didn’t know the deceased the way I did. They knew them the way THEY did, which was fine, but I didn’t want to deal with them. I wanted to grieve in my own way.
Now I attend them, and can’t think of a reason why I wouldn’t, unless I expected to run into people there I didn’t want to see.
“it’s your funeral.”
stop saying that. i want to do this- I CAN do this.
she laughed when I told her the plans for the girl’s funeral. i cried when she told me hers. we have not had enough time to breath
seeing the body, lying there… like their just asleep, as if they’d wake up and laugh again, talk to you, share their secrets. funerals are for remembering the person, to show how much you love and care for that person, and see how many people have come to respect them.
A funeral:
a depressing communal gathering,
in which we note how small
death makes us all.
We lie inside the coffin lids,
and lie from lecterns high,
and tell the gathered grieving
how wonderful life was
and could always be.
funeral. black. lace. weird smells. burgundy carpet. stairs that I shouldn’t go down. they happen too often. people cry. video montage. will I ever feel that sad?
The procession of black-clad forms mooved slowly and silently through the streets. The rain beat down upon hats, upon umbrellas. and then blended with tears. The sorrow was tangible. And yet, no words of comfort were spoken. How could there be?
Funeral. The word funeral has such a sad connotation to it, because a funeral is a sad occasion of course. Recently though, i have learned that a funeral can be a celebration. A celebration because someone we love has gotten to go to a better place, where they can be happy. Somewhere much better than here. Funeral.
A funeral of the soul, I decided I would title it (at least in my brain). It was ceremonial, sort of, watching the memories turn from vibrant images to a pile of blackened remains. They danced through the flames, ascended from the paper into the sky and out of my heart. I would never again be haunted by his ghost, for we were done, and the memories were burned.