In loving memory.
Loving Daughter, Distant Cousin, Niece, Friend and what else?
I’ve been thinking about my funeral lately. It looks like it’s going to be a sad affair.
I will be the sad one.
Sad; not just because I died, but because a good percentage of the miserably few people there will be there because it’s some kind of obligation.
Some people have to be there to represent the family, and then who?
People have their lives right? They’ll send thoughts and prayers to my family members they’ve never met, post my picture on their WhatsApp status for 24 hours and if I’m so lucky, I’ll get an Instagram post..
And then it’s back to regularly scheduled programming.
I understand. Funerals are uncomfortable to attend. And I’m not there to make you feel bad you didn’t come anyway. Or am I?
Family members I don’t share last names or affection with, will get a pastor I don’t know and have never met to pray and preach something for their comfort, maybe they’ll get a choir to sing a hymn. (I hope they sing well. I love music)
Will someone say something about me?
Who knows me well enough to say anything about me at my funeral?
Colleagues who don’t see beyond my resumption and closing at work?
Friends who are not exactly friends?
Lovers who profess love without loyalty?
Who? Give them the microphone and let them talk. Let them shed hypocritical tears and let them take centre stage in my life one last time.
But Maybe they don’t need to know me.
Maybe it’s enough that they know Fola the radio presenter. Fola the teacher. Fola the nice girl. Fola the intelligent. Fola the helper. Fola the trusting. Fola, the one who’s always there.
Maybe that’s enough. Those are nice things to be remembered for right?
It’s a funeral. Nice things only. That’s the rule.
Will they talk about how I died?
Probably. After all, it’s gist.
It doesn’t matter anyway. Nothing will matter anymore.