The Funeral Story

I am a child of television. I represent the first generation for whom the television set was a permanent fixture in our homes when we were born. This electronic piece of furniture had entered our sphere of influence. But TV does a lousy job dealing with death most of the time. If an actor dies, the character is recast or goes on a very long trip. If the character is killed off, there’s a high-end funeral that’s bought and paid for and everyone has moved on by the next episode. They fail to capture the finality of it all.

I lost a sister in January 2000, then a brother six months later. My older brother, another child of television, said that if this were a script, no one would buy it. Death doesn’t listen to market research. To lose two siblings so close to each other, I felt like I failed the grieving process and had to repeat it in summer school. Grief is hard to hide. You may say that you’re okay, but your eyes always tell a different story. I think I hid my grief about as well as Liberace hid being gay. I had reservations about being a comedian and writing about death. But, then, television had the answer. Everyone’s favorite episode of the “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” is Chuckles the Clown’s funeral.

I had to fly to Orlando, Florida to attend the funerals. If you ever have a say in the planning of a funeral, don’t plan a funeral in Orlando, Florida. Great place for vacations, lousy place for funerals. And it starts on the plane. Too many happy, perky people going to the vacation kingdom of the world. All dressed in bright, flowery colors, and I’m in black. Then, when your plane lands in the airport you hear, “It’s a small world after all.” Everyone is saying, “I want to go to EPCOT”; “I want to go to the Magic Kingdom”; “I want to go to Universal.” And I’m saying, “I’m going to Denial Land.” Okay, I made that part up. Like anyone wants to go to Universal. When I’m upset, I get really sarcastic.

Where do you go for a funeral in Orlando, Florida? The Snow White Funeral Home? Just look for the sign with the seven little pallbearers. “Hi Ho! Hi Ho! It’s in the ground you go.” That joking made me realize something. I can never remember the five stages of grief. You know, denial, anger…then I’m lost. But I found that the seven dwarfs work well. The shock from the news made me Dopey. When the reality set in, I became Grumpy. Then I had to meet all these people at the funeral. When you’re not in the mood to meet new people, you become Bashful. Grieving messes with your immune system, and I got Sneezy. Got help from Doc. He gave me something that made me Sleepy. But you’re supposed to be Happy because your loved ones are in a better place.

Planning a funeral is rough. You have to deal with people who have the ethics of used car dealers. But at least with a car dealer you can walk out off the lot. Here you have to make a lot of permanent decisions in three days, and under a great deal of stress. The sales people were always hovering around us in the coffin showroom with that new coffin smell. “Yes, how about that beachwood one?” Then the funeral guy says, “Oh, I’m sorry, sir, that one’s a rental.” EEEUW. I feel weird enough renting bowling shoes that other people have worn.

I’ve been a pallbearer several times and I always take it very seriously. I’m dignified, stoic, and proper. But there is always one pallbearer who likes to talk when you are taking the dearly departed down that last mile. “So, have you been watching Survivor?” TV was the last thing on my mind, especially reality TV. Real life is so different from TV. Real life doesn’t break for commercials. No matter how many hours you spend with her, you can’t list Oprah Winfrey as a reference unless you actually know Oprah. And unlike on Bewitched, when you lose someone, you just can’t get a new Darren.

Copyright Tony Figueroa