Wakes and Funerals in the Family

This posting will be a little long, as no funerals that I have attended have ever progressed without incident.  The first wake that I attended was held at a funeral parlor where we had to ascend a long flight of cement stairs.  The grief of those in attendance was devastating; a little boy had been killed by a bus as he rode his bicycle.  I was overwhelmed by the tragedy of the whole affair.  Now as I came out of the funeral parlor, I was accompanied by my mother. I turned to comment on the beauty of the sunset across the river.  Suddenly, without warning, my knees buckled and I rolled, head first down the cement steps.  When I regained consciousness, a gaggle of strangers was crowded around me, all making distress sounds.  A man came and helped me to my feet, while my mother kept asking what had happened.

I was so embarrassed that I had fainted; I tried to brush the dirt off and noticed that my brand new stockings were now hanging in threads; my knee was bleeding and I had a large lump quickly forming on my forehead.  However I was so embarrassed that I claimed totally perfect health.

That was my first experience with fainting, although not my last.

The next post will be about my mother’s wake.

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