Over my dead body…

There was a time when every Saturday was a celebration. Everyone in my world turned 21 and the party must have lasted a couple of years.

A few years later, it was weddings. I think I missed two entire Currie Cup seasons. Saturdays at 3pm it was the wedding march and by 8pm, when the groom was about to speech, Freddy Mercury would remind us that another one had bitten the dust.

Then came christenings. And so we grew up. And older. And now it seems that funerals are the monthly social gatherings. Having been to quite a few recently, I must admit I’m amazed at how many good people I know.

So I have decided, when it’s my turn, I also want people to lie at my funeral. It is something I have thought long and hard about and I am dead serious, pardon the pun.

Funerals are, as a matter of fact, not the ideal time to be brutally honest. But first things first. Seeing that it will be my funeral, I expect everybody to be on time. No latecomers will be allowed.

Pretend it’s a show and the doors are closed when the performance starts. I have been a newspaper man my entire life and would hate to miss my final deadline. I would also like some music.

The thought of my family and all my mates staring at a coffin all deadly quiet is not my idea of a memorial service. Seeing that I will be spoken of without the opportunity to defend myself, be kind. Lie.

It will mean the world to those who really loved me. Please don’t call me a dead beat. Pretend that I was an eager and selfless worker who would give his all to a cause.

It might be necessary to place a photograph of the dearly departed me in a prominent spot so that people don’t think they’re at the wrong funeral when they hear the praises.

And finally, remember to lift with your legs, not your back – without groaning. If my wishes are fulfilled, I will be in a leadlined coffin with extra small handles.

You know a dead weight feels heavier than it actually is. If your farewell is before mine I promise to do the same for you.

Danie Toerien