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Funerals are serious; a loved one has passed away, and family members come together to grieve and comfort each other. Right? That's what I always thought. That is, until I went to a funeral.
I supposed that I lived a sheltered life - I never wnet to a funeral until I was over 30 years old. My grandparents on my father's side were older when they had children (it was my grandfather's second marriage), so they died when I was too young to really understand (or go to a funeral). My grandparents on my mother's side were young grandparents, and we had a good relationship. My granddad died at the ripe old age of 86, and my grandmother is still alive at 83. So, the first funeral that I ever attended was my granddad's funeral. I guess my expectations were a little too high, as I expected it to be...well, I don't know, I just didn't expect what I ended up with, that's all.

I arrived in Ontario from Alberta with my mother. My husband was away on business, and my father stayed home to work. My mom and I sort of got off on the wrong foot with my recently widowed grandmother in two areas: first of all, our husbands did not come with us, and she had wanted them to be pall bearers (who knew?); secondly, we did not arrive until after my granddad had died. (I tried to explain that it is really hard to convince your employer to grant you bereavement leave if the person in question is not actually deceased, but that didn't get me very far.) We were staying in a hotel, which also greatly annoyed my grandmother, even though her house is very tiny and I would think that she would want some space. Suffice to say, things just did not start out very well.
My uncle (my mom's brother) had already started arranging the funeral. For some reason, my grandmother was in quite a hurry to get on with things. (I don't know why; my granddad wasn't going anywhere...) My mom had some ideas about the funeral, which my grandmother promptly ignored, being rather annoyed with us over the issues listed above. My mother got all huffy about this, and completely refused to cooperate with anything my grandmother did. To top all of this off, we had to sit through some sort of consultation with a minister who made us pray...eek.
(As an aside, I don't do religion. I was raised very religiously, and attended a Baptist church, Sunday school, and Pioneer girls (don't ask) for a good part of my childhood. I have a horrific fear (or rather, phobia) around water, and refused to be baptised,

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