If you read this blog, you know I’m not normal. Which is okay, if you ask me. Not being normal is nothing to sneeze at.
And since I’m not normal, I joined a Facebook group named DeathHub. (Yeah, I’m totally calling them out.)
I had been reading posts there, and they all seemed to be pretty cool. No real fighting, no insulting people, none of that kind of shit.
So I posted up one of the family stories about death.
Many years ago, when I was just a little kid, one of my mother’s aunt’s husband died. We knew him, and her, too. We used to go to their house, and she would always sneak us a few dollars. When my grandfather stopped being able to help her go shopping, my father took it over.
But before she needed help shopping, before she died, before her cats died…
Her husband died.
Her name was Mildred.
His name was Cliff.
Here’s the story I told in the FB group:
When her husband, Cliff, passed away in the hospital from complications from diabetes, she didn’t claim the body. She said that she would never go visit it, anyway, so she might as well save the money.
To me, this seemed like a good way to handle it. I’m with her – bodies are just bodies. They aren’t people anymore.
Why spend all the money on a funeral and closure when you don’t need it? They had very little family around, and she didn’t want to go through with all of it. Why should she be forced into it?
I thought this was healthy. She knew how she felt. She wanted to move on. She didn’t think of it as anything bad – he was dead. It wasn’t like he cared what happened anymore.
But when I posted it up, all the responses were negative. People remarked on how sad it was, how horrible she was for doing that, and how heartbreaking it was when a body wasn’t claimed.
Instead of sharing what I thought was a kind of funny, interesting anecdote from my life, I wound up feeling crappy because of it. I got told that her feelings – and mine – were not good.
As I said before, I know I’m not normal. But this should have been a safe place. The rules of the site told people to say nice things or move on.
They did not say nice things.
They did not move on.
They left me wondering if my family is even more fucked up than I already thought it was. Was I even more fucked up than I thought I was?
Not normal is okay. But totally broken is a bit worrisome.
(Part two coming soon – it’s about another great aunt who did even worse with his husband’s remains…or maybe it was less bad? Apparently I’m bad at judging this sort of thing…)