In our family humor is the best medicine. And I can tell if you are friend or foe by how you would react to the following story.
When my father passed away, my mother, sisters and I suffered through making funeral arrangements. To this day I still feel sorry for the funeral home, they didn't know quite what to make of us.
We walked into a room full of caskets, and turned around and walked out. Dad wanted to be cremated, so no need to spend anymore time in that showroom.
But we soon learned that you even have choices when it comes to the box you wish to go up in flames in.
You could chose a fancy casket, a pine coffin, or, in our case, a cardboard box.
That's right, cardboard.
And considering what happened next, it was lucky we did.
We were told to wait in the funeral directors office, since my Dad had to be identified one last time before he was cremated. That is one mix-up that would be hard to explain...
Anyway, it was taking FOREVER. We took the time to tell funny stories, and misbehave, when finally my mom was called into a room to say her last goodbyes.
The poor funeral home director did not know what to make of us.
She came back crying, but also shaking her head and laughing.
You see, my 6'7" father, who in life bumped his head, knees, and elbows on every available surface, who had to duck when going through doorways, even in death was too big for the world.
They had to cut some holes at the end of his cardboard box to make way for his feet.
We find this endlessly, morbidly hilarious.
His ashes are at my mom's house - in a proper urn. Years ago Kristy snuck some out and brought them to Portland. We took a long hike up into Forest Park and scattered some around. It was not quite a Big Lebowski moment, but I am pretty sure some of them ended up on my dog.
But he would have loved it.
And isn't that the point.