Mr. H. and I attended a funeral this last Sunday.  A gentleman that worked for Mr. H on a special project last year died from a massive heart attack while in the shower Wednesday night.  He was only 58 yrs old, a picture of good health, ran, lifted weights and didn’t have any prior history of heart problems.  Probably still wore the same size pants that he wore in High School.

The funeral services were held at this man’s church with one of those old fashion hell-fire and brimstone preachers.  The kind of preacher that screams and yells telling you that you are going to hell if you don’t repent your wicked ways right now!  The first time that hester has darkened the doors of a church in a long time and Mr. H made the comment that “Hell will probably freeze over now that I was through the doors”.  I have a real problem with churches in general and preachers in specific.  I believe in a God but don’t believe that she is as stoic and mean as they want to make her out to be.  I also don’t believe that you HAVE to worship her in the church building and can talk to her in other places – like gardening, washing the dishes, playing with your children or even in the bathroom – as long as you give a courtesy flush and spray first.

The problem I had with the hell-fire and brimstone preacher at the funeral was because it was supposed to be about the life and death of the gentleman who died and out of the almost hour long service maybe 10 minutes of it was actually spent discussing the decease’s life.  I thought this was disrespectful to both the man who died and his widow and children who were left behind.  This man was so much more than what could be spoken about in 10 minutes.  Maybe it is what his family wanted.  Either way I tuned the preacher out and started picking at my fingernails and watching the people around me.  Got a pretty good snag going on my left index finger and made it bleed.  Mr. H slapped my hand for that because he had to give me his handkerchief to stop the blood from dripping on the carpet.  Idle hands are the Devil’s work and not a good thing for hester either!

And what is it about only saying nice things about the person who died.  Why can’t they get up there and be honest like saying “Well, Mr. Smith was a hard worker and provided well for his family but he sure couldn’t keep his parts in his pants and screwed around on Mrs. Smith 4 different times – gave her a STD”.  It reminds me of the attitudes toward the Presidents.  I remember when Reagan was president and the American public in general bitched and moaned about his presidency and all the wrong decisions he made.  Later, after we had been through another president or two suddenly Reagan was the best president since “Sliced Bread”.  People honor and celebrate JFK’s presidency and if you will take a good look at history, the decisions he made and exactly what took place during his short term you will realize that he sucked as a president and was possibly the worst president there ever was.

When the service was over and Mr. H was driving me home (he is my chauffer as well as soul-mate and body-guard) we started discussing the services.  I told him that if I died before him I didn’t want a funeral I wanted a going away party AND NO CHURCHES!  No matter what my parents said!  He is to get a couple of kegs, rent a Karaoke band and celebrate my life instead of mourn my death.  They could use me as the centerpiece on the serving table and just balance the dessert tray on my boobs since they are flat enough to support it (especially if I lay down). 

I wanted all my friends to get drunk and toast what they remembered about me and I told him that I didn’t want just the good stuff toasted either.  They were allowed to say stuff like “I remember what a bitch she could be” or “Her mouth sure got her in trouble”.  I also told him that he could do what he wanted with the body because I wasn’t going to be here to care.  He could bury it or cremate it and keep the ashes or spread them on the backyard as fertilizer.  Whatever he felt he needed to do to get closure.  To keep costs in mind and that he shouldn’t have to mortgage the house or sell our first born to pay for the funeral and if he just wanted to put me in one of those plastic containers that we see at Sams and bury me in the backyard then that was fine too just make sure the dog doesn’t dig me back up because I wouldn’t want Magpie to find an arm or foot when she was playing in the backyard.

We have life insurance policies on each other that should more than cover burial and everything else has a policy in place that should one of us die then they will be paid off.  I told him to go cheap on the funeral and take the rest of the money, buy a mobile home and go follow the NASCAR circuit for a year.  So if I quite posting here and you see a red-headed man dragging around a little blond haired blue eyed girl in a motor home at the NASCAR races then you know what happened and just lift your beer, wine, MadDog 20/20, blue drink, Boones Farm, whatever to my memory.

Thank you for participating in the life of hester.