Funeral hilarity- When sad times go bad.

I have to go to a funeral tomorrow.

The last one I went to was my Grandfather's. I don't remember much of it as I've done the healthy thing of totally blocking it out emotionally.

Funerals are like stepping into a grief matrix, an emotional vortex that swings from the tragic to the hilarious, hanging on the edge of a cliff with nothing but fairy floss to hold on to.

What I mean by that is everything and everyone is bloody fragile. You don't want things fucking up at a funeral and by rights they should. Usually they don't. But, they should. Think about it: very sad people planning things while probably numbing the pain with medication and or alcohol handing over large sums of money just wanting it to be over and classy at the same time. RECIPE. FOR. DISASTER.

On the odd occasion that I hear about "funeral mishaps - when sad times go bad", I laugh. Hard.

It's probably the wrong response but sometimes, when I have the choice of laughing or crying I go down the laughing route to survive the situation.

Bodies falling out of coffins, people sitting through the wrong service and only realising half way through, hungover grandchildren spewing during the service, wife throwing herself in the grave after her husband was lowered into the ground (I witnessed this, at the time it was atrociously sad. Now-HILARIOUS.)

Because funerals are such sombre occasions and everyone wants to do the right things by the dead guy/girl's family a collective breathe holding takes place. Everyone just prays that it all goes off without anymore pain coming to those suffering.

Well, my husband and I had our own little funeral mistep that I thought I would share with you all.

It's a quick one.

A week ago, I got myself up, found my designated "funeral dress" and ironed my husband's shirt like the good and dutiful wife I am. We got the children off to school and drove down to Sandrigham for we were to say goodbye to Scott's baseball mentor Jack. Jack had inspired and supported my husband through out his entire baseball career and Scott was very sad at his passing. The funeral was going to be huge as he helped out many athletes and families in Victorian baseball.

We steeled ourselves emotionally for what was to come, we both knew it would be sad and so we sat in silence on the ride down preparing for the mood that the funeral would bring with it.

As we arrived at the Church I noticed there were only a few cars there. "Strange" I remarked.. Jack had many friends and had touched the lives of countless people so I had been expecting a bigger turn out.
Instantly and pointlessly I felt bad for Jack (shut up I know he is dead and his feelings aren't there to be hurt by the small amount of people at his funeral- but I still felt bad.)

Scott and I got out of the car, I helped him put on his suit jacket and picked some lint off his shoulder. We looked into each others eyes, I gave him my best supportive wife smile.. Just a hint of warmth, loads of sincerity and a smattering of "here if you need mate."

We held hands as we walked towards the church..

Scott opened the door for me and as I turned around and took in the scene before me I noticed something rather odd about Jack's funeral.

It wasn't there.

A confused looking priest approach us and asked is he could help.

I said: "We are here for Jack's funeral."

To which he replied: "You're early, a week early. Jack's funeral is next Friday."

YES. YEP. YES. EVERYTHING YOU ARE THINKING NOW, JUST YES.

Scott had got the dates wrong.

I thanked the priest, took my exhausted, embarrassed, confused husband's hand said "not to worry we'll just do it all again next week" and headed back to the car.

So, tomorrow we do it all again.

I know, hilarious.

Go ahead.

You can laugh now.

Hard.