Should I Stay or Should I Go? (not a song)

When I was in high school, there was a Popular Girl who was nice to me.  I may not have been a Loser with a capital L, but I may have been one with a small letter l.  Or, that’s how I felt. 

(again, not capital)

Nevertheless, whatever my title, I had no real group in which to ‘hang,’ as it were.  I “kept to myself,” a phrase often quoted in the news, by various neighbors of serial killers. (“No, nothing out of the ordinary,” the neighbor says, in disbelief and shock.  “He seemed polite… Always took his garbage cans out the night before…  Maybe quiet, a little.  He tended to keep to himself.”  Really?  Wanna know why?!  Because when he was cutting those bodies up to store in the freezer, he had to do it VERY QUIETLY and BY HIMSELF.) 

(keeps to himself)

Once, a Popular Kid asked me to go to King’s Island with her and I thought it was my Golden Opportunity to get Friends, but, for some Reason or Other, it didn’t Work Out.  Something about her older sister taking us made my parents Uncomfortable.  Plus, people who tend to Keep to Themselves, people who tend to Like Children in a Weird Way, roam amusement parks.  My chance had come and gone.

But, for whatever reason, on the softball team, Michelle Bokum wanted to toss the ball with me.  And not just once.  We tossed the ball all of the time.  She was crazy.  She definitely should have chosen a more Popular Kid to toss with—she was taking a Big Risk.  And not only did she toss with me, she sat by me on the bus to away games.  It was weird.  Why she chose me, I still have no idea.  Nevertheless, she did, and it served as a welcomed respite from feeling like a Freak.

I felt very strange when, as a senior in high school, I learned that it was Michelle Bokum who had been hit by a car and killed.  I wasn’t her “friend,” but she meant something to me.   I knew that her funeral would be filled with loads of people, all of whom would feel that they deserved to be there.   Her Friends and Family would be there.   It didn’t even cross my mind to go, not until years later, when I was still thinking about her death and remembering how nice she was. 

Recently, a colleague’s adult son suddenly and tragically died.  This colleague retired two years ago and I haven’t seen or talked with her in over a year.  Nevertheless, the thought of her loss dominated my mind.  What is funeral etiquette?  When do you go to a funeral and when do you not go?  Like most Important Questions, there’s no handbook with any index.  If you ask someone close to you if you “should” go, they’ll answer in a whisper and you can tell they’re not sure either. 

When you find out that someone’s son died, and you’re a parent, you automatically go to what it would be like if your kid died and it’s easily the worst place Ever.  But you go there.  When I went there, I thought I’d need the entire world to show up at my son’s funeral.  I’d need citizens from Uzbekistan (wherever that is) to show.  I’d need Anyone and Everyone to throw an ounce of Strength my Way, in an attempt to pick myself up off the floor to try to continue Life’s Path.

But what if you get there and the family Scowls at you and Shines a Spotlight on you and points with one hand and grabs a megaphone with the other, only to shout: “Why are YOU here?  This is a PRIVATE MATTER to share with LOVED ONES.  Why the HELL are YOU here?  Who the Hell are You, Anyway?” 

In thinking about all these things, I realized that I was, yet again, too focused on my own self.  My colleague had lost her f-ing son.  So what if the worst-case-scenario did happen and my presence wasn’t welcome?  So what if my intentions were misinterpreted or disregarded? Who cares about that goddamn risk? 

The bottom line is this:

I still get to go home to my son. 

This poor woman just poured dirt on hers. 

Here’s my funeral etiquette: if you want to go even slightly, go.  Just Bring Strength, in an attempt to Pass it On.  Whether it’s wanted or welcomed, who the hell knows.