😉 Greetings to new and regular readers of the site! Friends, I want to tell you a funny thing at a funeral. A story from a friend of mine:
How we buried our neighbor
I can talk about my father for hours. A truly Russian man. All his life he worked on a timber carrier, built a house, got married, and raised two children. Together with my mother, they had a large farm: chickens, pigs, a cow and a bull. He also loved to drink, but talked very loudly.
And every word was accompanied by obscenities. He could not express himself culturally at all. In connection with this feature of his, humorous stories, with dad in the lead role, there are more than a dozen in our family.
His expressions became crowned for many years to come, and the situations in which he found himself were retold to our grandchildren. I’ll tell you one of them, more or less decent.
Dad was respected by everyone. He had a lot of friends and acquaintances. But, after many years, unfortunately, most of them began to die. Father often visited at the funeral. And they buried them then, according to village customs.
The coffin stood at home for three days, his relatives “guarded” it at night. There were special rules for parting. They were taken to the cemetery in an open coffin, in a truck. And all the rest followed and threw fir branches on the road, as if so that the deceased would not return home. So it was accepted and everyone strictly observed everything.
But one day, an unexpected situation happened. Here it is worth saying that my dad was, well, a very squeamish person. Very clean. He had strict order everywhere, even in the barn.
Farewell to the deceased
So, our neighbor was buried. My parents were friends with her for many years. I personally loved her very much. She was a good woman. The funeral service was in the church. Then Father’s long speech. And then, quite unexpectedly, the priest invites everyone to come to the coffin in turn, kiss the deceased on the forehead and say goodbye.
Those who came, begin to line up in a rather long queue. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice how my dad wants to avoid this action in every possible way. Of course, he respected the deceased, but given his position in life, he could not kiss the deceased.
But there is nowhere to go, and now, he stands up after his old acquaintance, Nikolai Alexandrovich. And I get up, following him.
The turn comes to Nikolai, he bends down, kisses, and so, emotionally says goodbye, almost with tears. The father looks at him and, sympathetically, slaps him on the shoulder and says: “Say goodbye for me too, dear, it’s too hard!”
He, not suspecting anything, under a storm of emotions, kisses the deceased one more time, says something more, and finally walks away. And dad quickly bent over the coffin and whispered “Well, sleep well, Maria Stepanovna.”
I, watching this whole picture, could not help laughing. But now it’s my turn to say goodbye! Laughter burst out, I covered my face with my hands and pretended that I was roaring, not laughing! Well, what else could I do ?!
I could not calm down, as luck would have it. I moved away from the coffin, but still, “roared”. A woman came up to me and said, “Why are you so killing yourself, she was already old, what now …”
Somehow I pulled myself together and calmed down. And dad didn’t even understand what was wrong with me. He thought no one noticed his little shirking. Here’s a curiosity.
Friends, as always, I am waiting for your comments on the article “Curiosity at a funeral – a case from rural life.” Do not hesitate to tell us about your curious life experiences. Thanks!