I'm probably depressed because I went to a funeral on Saturday. In point of fact, sang at the funeral Saturday. And worked like a dog (with hubs and kids) the previous Wednesday to get tables and chairs and stuff set up at the church for the luncheon that would be served after the funeral. (Question- why do we always have to have the big food thing after a funeral? I'd rather go home, put on my jammies and a good movie, and order a pizza, cold unfeeling witch that I am.)
The person who died was a member of our church, a beautiful 14 year old girl. Jamie was a fabulous kid; she was on her bike when she was hit by a car. She technically died at the scene, but was kept alive on machines for a few days before her parents decided to let her go. The service for her was INSANE. There had to have been 300 people there. Every kid from her school was there, all deciding to wander around the funeal home sanctuary finding friends they must. go. hug. right. now. The people on the platform tried to conduct the service, which was hampered by both parents needing to step out for a quick smoke, a couple of family members with coffee cups in which to spit the juice from the huge wads of chewing tobacco wedged in their cheeks, and random friends who crossed right in front of the casket because they just had to say a word to the family, who were trying to listen to the eulogy. Some semblance of order came when I sang; I think it's just because music gets your attention. I am also a loudmouth, which helps.
I worked harder at the luncheon than I ever have in restaurants. So did our 4 elderly ladies who cooked all morning; we are a small church, with a small kitchen, and we fed around 90 people. They were very grateful, but GEEZ. They piled their plates, taking so much the first trip that we had to cut them off at two scoops of potatoes please, and let their kids run all over the church depositing all manner of trash in every room. Of course the church is there for people; serving is what we do, but good grief. Were they all born in a barn?
I'd do it again, though. Jamie's father got us all together afterward to thank us. He's not a rich man by any standard, and had no idea how he would provide a service or burial for Jamie. Fortunately, the church was able to put him in touch with people who would help, and of course we provided the luncheon. He is a man of few words; one who was raised with the 'men don't cry' machismo like most men his age. He stood in front of us and said, "None of this would have happened without you. I didn't know how I could do anything for Jamie, but thanks to you my baby was buried like a princess."
And, yeah. Made everything totally worth it.
Jamie would have absolutely approved of how I cheer myself up after just about anything life slams me with- looking at cute guys with unpronounceable names. From E.R. and Elektra, Goran Visnjic.