There’s a saying, “It takes all kinds to make a world,” and
I think that’s true. People definitely do come in every variety, and after a
few years in my business, I’d have to say that mourners do to. There are the
stoic, stiff upper lippers, who don’t let anyone see how they really feel;
there are the quiet criers, sitting in the back, who try not to let their grief
make anyone uncomfortable; there are the in-and-outers, who spend just enough
time to pay their respects and then leave as fast as they can; and there are even
the people who wait out in the lobby because they are unable to, or don’t want
to, be in the room with the casket. And then there are the Flingers. If you’ve
been to a lot of wakes and funerals, you know exactly who I’m talking about. Chances
are, you’ve probably seen at least one Flinger in the wild in your time. I’ve seen
quite a few over the years, starting with my own sister, Felicity.
Flingers share certain characteristics. They usually sit in
the front – in or near the family seats (most Flingers are close family, but
not always). They’re almost never on the receiving line because they can’t
maintain their composure enough for that. You’ll know them almost immediately
by the loud crying, and the large number of people gathered around them. Most Flingers
need a large crowd. But Flingers are most obvious when they approach the casket
to pay their respects to the deceased. This is the point when Flingers tend to
lose control completely, which results in ear-splitting wails (“Why, God, Why?”
is a popular choice) as they throw themselves across the casket, inevitably having
to be pulled back by several relatives. This is usually the point when a lot of
the more “casual” mourners suddenly discover a need to use the restroom or go
outside for some air.
Flingers can generally be divided into two categories. First
are the truly devastated, who just cannot come to terms with their loss. Their grief
is truly heartbreaking to behold, and I cry myself every time I see someone in
that kind of pain. Often it’s a spouse of many years, who cannot imagine life
without their other half. Sometimes it’s a parent of a young child, whose
justifiable devastation is something no one should ever have to endure. And,
sometimes, it’s a young child who has lost a parent, and I defy anyone to not
be affected by the tears of a child.
These Flingers have every right to their pain, and their
expression of it. But there’s another type of Flinger out there, and I have
very little patience for them (although, professionally, I have to tolerate
them all). These Flingers are more narcissistic, and feel a need to show
everyone that their grief is deeper than anyone else’s. Because, if everyone
feels bad for them, they’ll be the center of attention, and that’s what these
Flingers need. Once you’ve gone to enough funerals, it’s easy to tell the
difference between the genuinely devastated and the “Show Flingers.” Show
Flingers usually have a pretty well rehearsed story about their relationship
with the deceased (often using the possessive, “my mother/brother/cousin” even
with people who have the same relationship, as if to suggest they were closer
to the deceased than anyone else). If you spend enough time around a Show
Flinger, you’ll probably hear the same story, word-for-word, multiple times.
Show Flingers also have an incredible sense of timing, and won’t waste their
performances on a small crowd. They’ll wait until the room is full to turn it
on, for maximum effect.
Guess what category Felicity falls into? Our mother’s
funeral was her finest performance and, had it been a TV movie, she would have
gotten an Emmy. I know that sounds harsh, because she lost her mother just the
same as me. But you had to see her –she was in total Show Flinger mode. Mom and
Felicity had a difficult relationship. They loved each other, of course, but
Felicity was always the rebel, and she and Mom butted heads more often than
not. But, in the packed funeral parlor,
it was all, “What am I going to do without my best friend?” as my cousins
dragged her off the casket. It was hard for me, standing on the receiving line,
to hear that, knowing I couldn’t give way to my own grief because someone had
to greet all of the well-wishers. I admit, I did wonder, since I didn’t cry
once in front of anyone, if people thought I didn’t care as much as Felicity.
But, I had to be me . . . and Felicity had to be Felicity. Oh, and in case
you’re wondering what she did when the crowd had thinned, well she was either
texting in the back, or disappearing with her boyfriend.
As I’ve said, I’ve dealt with my share of Flingers in my
job, but one of my more disruptive ones came at a funeral that took place just
days before my highly anticipated weekend in the Hamptons. It was a relatively
small funeral for me, with only about 25 mourners present. Things had gone
relatively smoothly at the wake the night before, and at the Church. The
Flinger in question was the elderly aunt of the deceased, and it seemed like
her family was keeping a tight leash on her (Show Flinger all the way). But,
the leash snapped at the cemetery. Just as the minister finished the final prayer,
and invited the mourners to lay flowers on the casket, a keening cry sounded
from the back of the crowd. Everyone turned to look, creating a clear path to
the gravesite. The elderly aunt broke away from the “embrace” of her nephew,
ran remarkably quickly (for someone her age) through the crowd and hurled
herself on the casket. Unfortunately, her momentum carried her clear across the
top, causing her to land in an ungainly heap amid the pile of flowers on the
other side.
Undaunted, but with a variety of roses, carnations and other
flora clinging to her eggplant suit, the woman rose and climbed back onto the
casket, which she basically straddled, refusing to let go, as she wailed and
cried incoherently. I can’t even do
justice to the chaos – her wails, the angry shouts of her relatives, the
laughter of the cemetery workers waiting to lower the casket (inappropriate,
yes, but her action star slide was pretty damn funny) all combined into a
nearly deafening roar. I had no idea what to do – there was no way I was
hauling this elderly woman off the casket. So, I just hovered at the back while
the family sorted it out. The nephew finally lifted her bodily off the casket
and carried her, slung over his shoulder, to one of the cars, where he dumped
her, none too gently, in the backseat.
He then stood next to the car, arms crossed, as if he was daring her to
try and escape. After a few minutes of
sorting things out (during which I tried to salvage the floral displays), the
ceremony continued, but everyone was clearly thrown by what had happened. This
was one service where I had elected not to attend the luncheon after, and I
couldn’t have been happier to make my escape.
After that eventful funeral, I couldn’t wait for the weekend
in the Hamptons. I needed the rest. And, I was intrigued by that chance
encounter with Michael at the Esplanade. I couldn’t shake the feeling that
there had been a spark there, and that he had been flirting with me. Despite
the fact that I still wasn’t sure I even liked him, I could no longer kid
myself about my attraction to him. And, it seemed like he was attracted to me
too. This weekend seemed like the perfect opportunity to see if there might be
some potential there.
Stupid me.
