I hate funerals

Never liked them, and I've been to a few now - including my father's and, last year, my mother's.  Exactly as you say.  I've written about it in my book.  Here's the short excerpt, if you don't mind...

'It was a sombre journey.  Stilted chit-chat again.  I told Phyllis about the previous evening and how special it was.  There was no acknowledgement from anyone else.  We spoke about the day and the weather.  We kept it all civil and polite.  But I sensed a tension, nonetheless.  When we reached the Crematorium, I got out and went to say my hellos to people.  Sue had managed to get Barbara there [mum's closest neighbours], which I was hugely pleased about.  They were on their own near the entrance - Barbara in her wheelchair now.   Lynn's mother and her partner were there, neither of whom I'd seen for years.  Nicole and the girls, plus husband Warren.  Lynn's sister and her partner, both of whom I'd always liked - though I understood they had fallen out with her family over something.  Uncle Derek and cousin Lorna.  Joanne and Jack, her husband - who, again, I got on with, though Lynn and Russell both didn't.  Russell's son, Carl, and his wife.  Old faces.  And like all funerals, it felt a little awkward.  Weddings and funerals.  Times that people came together - in some cases, perhaps, because they felt they needed to rather than because they wanted to.  I picked up on a few people who were studiously avoiding others - some shifting feet, awkward gestures, averted eyes.  I was glad that I wasn't really a part of any of them - in a social sense, anyway.  I alone felt like I was there alone.  And mum was there.  She was who I'd really come for.  She was the reason.  Joanne came straight up to me and gave me a hug, which I knew Lynn and Russell wouldn't like.  I didn't care about that.'

Never liked them, and I've been to a few now - including my father's and, last year, my mother's.  Exactly as you say.  I've written about it in my book.  Here's the short excerpt, if you don't mind...

'It was a sombre journey.  Stilted chit-chat again.  I told Phyllis about the previous evening and how special it was.  There was no acknowledgement from anyone else.  We spoke about the day and the weather.  We kept it all civil and polite.  But I sensed a tension, nonetheless.  When we reached the Crematorium, I got out and went to say my hellos to people.  Sue had managed to get Barbara there [mum's closest neighbours], which I was hugely pleased about.  They were on their own near the entrance - Barbara in her wheelchair now.   Lynn's mother and her partner were there, neither of whom I'd seen for years.  Nicole and the girls, plus husband Warren.  Lynn's sister and her partner, both of whom I'd always liked - though I understood they had fallen out with her family over something.  Uncle Derek and cousin Lorna.  Joanne and Jack, her husband - who, again, I got on with, though Lynn and Russell both didn't.  Russell's son, Carl, and his wife.  Old faces.  And like all funerals, it felt a little awkward.  Weddings and funerals.  Times that people came together - in some cases, perhaps, because they felt they needed to rather than because they wanted to.  I picked up on a few people who were studiously avoiding others - some shifting feet, awkward gestures, averted eyes.  I was glad that I wasn't really a part of any of them - in a social sense, anyway.  I alone felt like I was there alone.  And mum was there.  She was who I'd really come for.  She was the reason.  Joanne came straight up to me and gave me a hug, which I knew Lynn and Russell wouldn't like.  I didn't care about that.'