by Erika Cormier

Created on: March 23, 2009   Last Updated: March 25, 2009

Everyone knows they will attend them, but no one is quite prepared for how a funeral will change your life. I guess one would say it is the death that will change your life permanently with your loss but really the funeral seems to me, as the concrete assurance that you will never be the same again. You don't want to go, but you feel it is the right thing to do or you are literally forced to be there.

Before the death of my father in law, I was always haunted by funerals. The gathering of people whom at one time befriended the person who has passed. Now they are together in one place, one room. Everyone in the room knew the person but not everyone in the room knows each other. To me it was uncomfortable and almost like portraying a character that you hated. Being the person to say hi to all the others you hadn't seen in years. Making small talk as if nothing had happened. Even laughing. It appeared to be a denial that we were all forced in to. Playing that character for a couple hours to make it all seem okay.

But then my father in law passed away in October of 2007. Unexpectedly at 60 years of age. My husband was 39. They were very close as father-son but also in other ways. I became very close to my father in law, Denis, after I met my husband. I came to call him "Big Den", as he was a big man, but more so that my husband was also Denis, but not a "junior".

The day before the funeral I found out my husband's cousin was asked and had agreed to perform the eulogy at the church. I almost without thought, immediately said that I would do it, and I would be so glad to do so. I almost shocked myself momentarily after saying it. My sister in law thought that would be great but they worried I would not be able to handle it.I was determined. I stayed up for hours into the morning typing the eulogy which I so carefully produced and typed on my laptop. I found myself asking what he would want, what everyone else would want, what his family would want. And then it came to me to just type the damn thing like I wanted to. I don't think I ever in my life paid so much attention to detail as I did writing that eulogy. It dawned on me that this was very important. It was me. I was responsible for making all those people attending, whom I had at one time thought were characters, really reflect on the wonderful person whom had brought us all together in one place, on one day. It is a huge responsibilty. It is important. It all made sense.

The morning of the funeral, my husband's

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