Well, it is over. My best Buddy is gone. I attended his funeral this morning.
On Thursday evening, I went to the body "Viewing" and it was "family only." I am part of the family (through marriage) so, I was there.
I was welcomed with joy and enthusiasm like a long lost (Prodigal) sheep. I practically grew up with these folks and have known them either since my teens or shortly thereafter.
I came away from THAT lighter than air and feeling pretty good.
I did break down emotionally seeing my lifelong friend in that coffin. But frankly, I desperately needed that cry. It has been two years since he cut me off (after 34 years of continued friendship after I had been DF'd). So, I've had to adjust to "being dead to him."
His sudden death made no sense to my subconscious mind. The corpse pretty much sorted that one out.
As a result of feeling a part of people's lives again (even under heartbreaking circumstance) without awkward silence on their part (I was hugged, kissed, etc.) I could let my iron protective shield down and see them as human beings once more.
You have no idea HOW WONDERFUL that felt!
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Today, all the strangers (to me) from Johnny's Jehovah's Witness world were there.
It struck me immediately!
There is a definite dreary depression behind the eyes of the JW's. Of course, I might be projecting this on them myself--but I sincerely doubt it. The people who are my age or a little younger look horribly depleted in spirit, energy, and self-confidence. . . depressed would be the word.
Most have put on too much weight, are pallid, out of shape, slightly frail and definitely wizened!
Ouch!
Am I trying to be nasty? Please don't get that impression from me! I love these folks. I don't want to say anything insulting at all.
All the young people look like trapped animals who just don't belong and don't really want to belong. The Elders have that car salesman air about them and tend to dress badly. Not shabby, mind you, just without taste!
The only friendliness I found was Johnny's kids, who are now in their 30's and 40's.
The attendants had the personalities of car wash personnel.
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I won't go into all the details. I got my feelings hurt rather badly and it's my fault for taking it all to heart.
The fellow who gave the eulogy introduced himself as "Johnny's best friend" and then went on to say, "Everybody who knew Johnny thought they were his best friend." Well, triple bullshit!
Then, a few short anecdotes were given and they were WRONG in the little details I ALONE knew. Yeah, if I sound jealous--I am. I could have delivered one hell of a going away talk and poor Johnny was stuck with these clowns who think they knew him!
The Funeral (religious sales pitch) talk turned my stomach because it was such a typical Hallmark card of evangelizing poo-poo. My skin crawled.
Honest to God, I felt like I was in an asylum filled with people condemned to evaporating life possibilities trying to sell the secret to happiness without having known it themselves!
I won't go on and on about it.
I loved Johnny, I love his widow and kids. He came from a truly kind and amazing family. Whatever denomination he might have embraced--he would have been the same person--except he could have made something great out of himself and his life.
The rest of those people are mannikins with painted expressions. They have the Governing Body's cold, sweaty hands up their ass moving their jaw like a ventriloquist's dummy.
Their attitude and deportment are that of torture survivors hanging in and hanging on to whatever is left.
There is an invisible countdown clock inside their heart. They crave the oblivion of the grave to release them from that ponderous yoke of endless, rat wheel motion--running in place, getting nowhere, with the dagger of Armageddon hanging above them every second of life.
I am so glad I'm not in the clutches of this desperate delusion any longer. Life is slow poison. I am free of them--except in the center of my soul where there is a hole just about the size of Johnny Santa Cruz. That man, that life, that love has dissolved like a cube of sugar in sour lemonade, then pissed away on a dream and a false hope.
I no longer have any reason at all to be anyplace where JW's gather. Johnny was the last excuse. He can't snap out of it now. He can't change his mind. He can't call me on the phone and say--"Hey, I just woke up--let's talk!"
I'll shake off this torpid malaise and walk around in the sunshine this afternoon and keep my eyes on the horizon where death awaits. At least, there won't be any JW's at MY funeral. That is a very good thing indeed--only people who truly, madly, deeply love me for who I really am.
I was in a field of plastic flowers today and I could not stand the dreary falseness of it all. I mean, to live your life as a fake thing is sad and maddening.