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Your Funeral
Kerry:
--- Quote from: Artiste on September 15, 2008, 10:45:19 pm ---Merci injest!
I believe you, but it sounds so unplaussible!
It is like some of my true life stories; one example, when the foreign doctor refused to take care of my buddy in the hospital: he called him: A FIVE DOLLAR PIG !
I still can not talk about it to-day, since when I do, nobody beleives me !
You understand my nervousness to talk about that dire time?
Au revoir,
hugs!
--- End quote ---
I'm so sorry that happened to you, Artiste.
Kerry:
--- Quote from: Katie77 on September 15, 2008, 10:43:00 pm ---When my Dad died, the service and burial were all to be held at the cemetry.
Everyone arrived, as well as the hearse, only to find that the council had not dug the grave. So we all moved down the hill and stood under a tree while the council workers brought the digger in. .....It was not very pleasant.
--- End quote ---
Gosh, Sue, I don't think I would have been able to cope, if that would have happened at my Mum or Dad's funerals. Very distressing.
Katie77:
--- Quote from: Kerry on September 15, 2008, 11:35:25 pm ---Gosh, Sue, I don't think I would have been able to cope, if that would have happened at my Mum or Dad's funerals. Very distressing.
--- End quote ---
You know Kerry, I was only in my 30's then and funnily enough I coped pretty good. Only days before I had learnt that my dad committed suicide, so the graveside thing was fairly secondary.
This all happened in Laurieton, northern NSW. I dont think it would have happened in Sydney.
Katie77:
Sounds like a peaceful and dignified farewell you have planned there Kerry. And beautiful words....
I have always liked the 23rd Psalm.....The Lord is my Shepherd
Kerry:
--- Quote from: DavidInIndy on September 15, 2008, 11:00:12 pm ---We buried my Mom on my birthday. That was the shits for me. My birthdays haven't felt the same since then.
--- End quote ---
That must have been such a terribly sad day for you, David.
:-* {{{ David }}} :-*
I had my 41st birthday, about a week before my Mum died. She had been in extreme pain and was highly medicated on morphine for the last couple of weeks of her life. I was Mum's youngest son and we were always very close. Mum and Dad had always made a fuss of me on my birthday. I remember sitting beside Mum's bed, holding her hand and saying, "It's my birthday today, Mum." She just looked at me blankly, her morphine-doped eyes gazing into mine, as if to say "Who are you?"
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