Well, I must say it is good to finally concentrate on things a little less heavy than death, but after coming back from my Uncle Orly's funeral, I can say I now know what a happy death is.  My uncle lived a very rich life.  He was married for 52 years and was surrounded by people he loved when he died as much as when he was alive.  He was loved by everyone because he always had a way of getting everyone together without much fuss.  I can't say that I'm completely happy that he's dead, but I am happy that he is no longer suffering. 

Now, any time my Austrian side of the family gets together you can expect someone to be boisterous and others to be austere with little to nothing in between.  As soon as I arrived at the funeral home, my cousin Linda (one of the boisterous ones) yelled out, "Hey, everyone, the Witch in the family is back!"  Before I could tell Linda to quiet down in respect to our more conservative relatives, I realized she did this so that the emphasis on her being the "black sheep in the family" would be less severe.  Thanks, Linda.  Everyone tried to ignore me and I thought I'd get out at the end of the service, but, oh, no!  Aunt Madge requested that all the relatives come to her place for food and conversation.  I've never gotten along with my Aunt Madge, but my heart softened to see her in tears over the loss of her husband.

And then my Aunt Cathy told me that, despite everything, everyone was glad to see me that they'd always knew I'd go far in the Arts.  You see, I'm the first woman in my family to make it on my own, unmarried with no children to drag me down, and therefore my only responsibility is to take care of myself, something I believe my Aunts always resented me for.  For once I didn't feel too badly out-of-place being the odd loner.  I actually felt relieved but it gave my relatives little to talk to me about.  It was like they just didn't want to know anything else because they just couldn't relate to me.  Not like I was supposed to be the focus of the gathering anyway, it was my Uncle Orly's funeral nonetheless, and by the time I got to the service I was already worn out by Dirk's funeral.

As I sat through the service for my uncle, I noticed a difference (besides the obvious) between the funerals I attended on Tuesday.  Dirk's funeral was crowded, filled with lots of young people who numbered from acquaintences to very close friends.  Orly's funeral was very small and intimate, filled with older people who needed a lot of help to get around.  Orly's funeral was also strictly Catholic but the priest was young and charismatic, cute even!  I watched the priest carefully because he directed the service in a way where he tried to emphasize life after life -- something I liked and was surprised by.  At Dirk's funeral, there was no priest or pastor, but the air was filled with Christian gospel music and the ceremony was impromtu, leaving room for friends and family to get up and testify what Dirk meant to them.  I wished it had been like that at my uncle's funeral.  But by the time we got to Aunt Madge's, there was plenty of time for us to share stories about Orly, and yet we didn't.

In both funerals people focused too much on the death of the loved one and even my Pagan friends were so daunted by the violence of Dirk's death that it was too hard to remember that we will see him again.  In fact I talked to both Dirk and my Uncle over the last couple days.  I can feel them around.  Last night I even had a dream where Dirk was showing me what it was like to be a happy ghost.  He told me that his work as a priest would continue in the spiritworld.  On Wednesday morning I was wakened by my uncle's voice.  It was just like him to try and get me to get up early in the morning.  He used to do that back when I was in high school.  He was the best alarm clock ever.

I kept wondering where my tears were during the funerals.  I wept only a trinkle which is highly unusual for me.  Both men meant a great deal to me, yet why wasn't I weeping like everyone else?  I kidded myself that perhaps my anti-depressant medication was working over time.  I was wrong.

As soon as I got home, I cried like a baby.

There's something refreshing about weeping wildly like that.  I cried so hard my pillows were soaked with tears.  I hadn't cried that hard since I lost my best friend who, by the way, I wrote recently because life is too short and time passes by too fast to let me continue to hold a grudge against him for getting married.

Even though Dirk was taken from us too early, his was a happy death filled with honors bestowed upon him by many friends.  And even though I'd still like to have my uncle alive, his was also a happy death because he lived a full life and left behind beautiful children and great memories.

I don't know what else to say.  So much else has happened in the last few days.  I find myself staring off into space lost in thought unable to start or do much of anything.  Do you know how that feels?