When You’re Dead, You’re Dead. Get Over it

Yes, I know I’m being callous here. I know I don’t understand the ramifications of my insensitivities. I know this family has every right to do with a body as they will, and my words have no ability to change that.

But I can’t help rolling my eyes.

I literally thought they burned his soul.

Really. It’s just his body. In fact, I bet you have thousands of photographs that you can look at. Photographs of your husband alive. Smiling. Crying. Yelling in white hot anger at the dog who just pooped on his new shoes. Laughing at something the grandkids did. Sure, you don’t get to touch the creepy dead skin, holding the hand of a lifeless pile of cells, preservation chemicals sloshing throughout the body cavities. But burned his soul? Seriously?

You didn’t get to say your last goodbye. You didn’t get to hold him again one last time. Our daughters didn’t get to, our families didn’t get to, and we were very close.

Yes you did. The last time he was alive. Saying goodbye to a dead guy is…I don’t know.

The family ended up burying Tony’s remains. His ashes were placed in a coffin, which is about a quarter mile from their family farm.

As you would have, his lifeless body. He’s in the ground now. It’s just taking up more space than it otherwise would have. Seriously, a gravestone is just a place to come pay homage to the dead, if you’re into that sort of thing. You don’t even need one grain of the ex-living to be buried there.

They want to be compensated for the mistake but said they don’t have a specific dollar figure to refer to at this point, and so far, no court dates have been set.

I can’t even. And they’ll get money too.

Hey Mayo and the funeral home: Do a better job next time. Don’t mix up the body. Apparently people care.

Update 4/5/2016 10:05 AM CST:

My bride read this and commented, proving I am a callous old codge. Her statement is actually really good:

“Yes you did. The last time he was alive. Saying goodbye to a dead guy is…I don’t know”

The last time they said goodbye was never supposed to be a permanent goodbye. Saying goodbye to the body is extremely healing because it allows you to no longer look to that body as what you have of that person but instead to the memories. When I said “goodbye” to Grandpa’s body in January it gave me a chance to memorize his face so that when I have memories of him I can picture his face smiling at me with his plaid flannel shirt on because that is the way I saw him last and I memorized that.

Saying goodbye to a dead guy can be extremely healing and helps the memories bring comfort for many.

I agree with both of us.

Bring me coffee, hold the cream – unless you’re my father-in-law


Those of you who have been reading my words since the inception of Incongruous Circumspection, those of you who encouraged me to begin writing my thoughts on the virtual page, those of you who have, over the years, shared with me your stories of abuse, allowing me to expose those who hurt you so deeply, those of you who have worked your ass off, trying to get me to realize the error of my atheist ways, yes….even you, welcome. New readers, hello!

As has been my tradition, I will continue to expose my dear Mama and her lovely narcissistic letters to me and my family. I will still be accepting stories of abuse, whether it be sexual, spiritual, mental, physical, abuses of power, or any other sort of abuse that ends up hurting my readers, and needs to be exposed.

I will be writing personal letters to commenters who try to win me back to the bosom of Christ. I’ve checked. His bosom is rock hard and full of dust-caked sweat. It’s really not that great. Also, his blood tastes like blood, not wine. And, news flash, the last time I tried to get a carpet stain out of my pearly white Berber, it didn’t leave the rug as white as snow. Sorry.

I’ll be doing what I do best, as well – writing puff pieces about the chaos of my own home. Every time my kids yell at me and tell me I’m an idiot, you will know. Of course, I’ll spice it up to make me look like the good guy and they, gooder.  My bride, as ambitious, beautiful, brilliant, and successful as she is, will grace these pages as often as she allows. I love that woman and you will see it.

I hate those who hurt others. They will not be spared my ire. I love those who care for others. They will be praised here.

And I like craft beer (for sipping) and good coffee. I add cream to bad coffee. That is, all bad coffee, except my father-in-law’s. He makes the most vile coffee this side of the Mississippi, and yet I made the social faux pas of declaring it “the best damn coffee, this side of the Mississippi,” when I was but a stupid newlywed. I’ve been paying for that compliment ever since, having not the heart or the ovaries to tell him the truth. Then again, after 15-years, maybe I kinda like it in a self-flagellation sort of way.

In short, welcome.