Funerals’ fake facts and figures

At best, eulogies make for hilarious comedy turns at funerals in which I hope I’ll not feature one day. But then again, my only claim to fame?


Do me a favour. If for any reason you reckon I deserve a tribute or two, tell me now.

If by some quirk there are some, I won’t be hearing from you while I’m still breathing – you’ll spare them for a eulogy.

Too late, if we were to believe that the old scribes got it right in translation.

Absent from the body, present with the Lord. Most religions have it there’s a life hereafter with a new body – with which I can do, like now.

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The earthly body is left to the worms or incinerator, for the simple reason it no longer carries any weight. So why all the fuss with funerals?

They’re not only costly, but take up plenty of land. But they’re not my only beef. Eulogies. Or, rather, their content. The idea of eulogising the departed is virtuous – as long as it’s justified.

At almost every funeral service I’ve attended, the programme was top-heavy with tributes for the deceased who I’d known for many years.

And in most cases my departed pals, had they been able to hover over the proceedings, would’ve laughed their heads off. Or blushed with embarrassment; that’s if they still possessed flowing blood.

The scribes hadn’t picked up what made up heavenly bodies, except to allude to souls. I digress. The tributes I’ve heard were either blatant lies, or serious distortions and exaggerations.

Some so obvious that even the mourners steal a look at each other with deep frowns. You can almost hear the silent exchange.

“Who are they talking about? That’s not my Hugo. He was a lazy oaf. Never lifted a finger. He sat himself down and watched TV from morn till night. A model husband? Se voet!” Or, Joyce, “a wonderful soft-spoken granny the kids loved visiting”?

Not this one. She terrorised them.

“You touch the TV and I’ll knock your block off!” Or, Theodore. “What a sportsman. Always played fair.”

Over my dead body! He was a bad loser. Fibbed about his golf handicap. Cheated at cards. Sulked when not getting his way.

At best, eulogies make for hilarious comedy turns in which I hope I’ll not feature one day. But then again, my only claim to fame?

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Cliff Buchler Columns funerals