One of my older family members died recently, and I went to his memorial today, near exclusively so my brother wouldn't be stuck there on his own. And, like, to put it bluntly, dear reader: the man was a fucking asshole. Cheated on his wife misogyny style (with several extra egregious details I shan't air out to neocities), stared at my tits when I'd see him, my father of all people didn't want me around him levels of asshole. None of my family liked him, we'd all groan and bitch whenever he decided to come to a family gathering, so on so forth.

And yet.

I had to spend a full hour watching as people sung his praises, including people I know he's abused. I had to listen to things that made me feel more skeeved out, and they were trying to be positive, and it's just... It's awful, right? But it's not an awful that I'm meant to call out, because he's family, and you don't speak ill of the dead.

But, of course, my family can speak ill of them when they're living. Comment on their weight, say all their problems all their own fault, that's fine. Not when they're dead, though. Then they're a saint.

I think it is worse, maybe, that I don't just not feel anything. Not grief, mind you. Almost, like.. amusement? And that's like, awful, I'm sure, and I'd never admit that to his family, because even if I hated him and his wife that's cruel and I know it. But there's something ridiculous about the show that is made by my family of scrubbing people of their flaws the moment they pass on, talking about how wonderful it is they're in heaven now, how amazing they were and how now you get to continue their story, how they were exclusively a blessing in everyone's lives. There were some bumpy patches in his marriage, sure, but they loved each other, and they were happy they stayed together. Did you know he did all these things? God personally destined him to be here, he was sent by Jesus, he was basically a disciple.

It reduces them to less than people. And maybe for them that'd be comforting, but when you've spent your whole life being sanded down to just your flaws by those same people, it's jarring as fuck. The only time you get to be pure is when you're dead, and even then, you're an idol.

Also. The heaven thing.

I haven't been Christian for several years. In fact, nowadays I'm pagan and Luciferian ("but your name is—" yeah don't worry about it I'll post about it later), so I am in fact the devil worshipping dyke my parents fear I am, thank you very much. Heaven being "real" isn't off the board for me, but it's not a place I'm going to, nor one I want to go to, and not a place I have any investment in. And I'm very aware that my, ah, sensibilites when it comes to these things are supremely different to my family's. However.

There is no taste that sits worse in my mouth than the way my family talks about death. And I know, I know, I'm not supposed to talk bad about that sort of things, both for grief's sake and to be respectful of others' religions, but I think I get a free pass from my mom basically constantly telling her suicidal kid that heaven is so much better than earth, actually, can't you wait to get there? I can't wait to get there, I bet it's so nice, don't you wanna go to heaven?

I can understand the whole "they're in a better place now" thing, even if it still sours in my stomach. The constant emphasis on how they're in paradise, how things are so much better up there, how we should be happy for them... It feels dismissive and distant, and was awful to hear as, again, a suicidal kid. Your life on earth is not rotten! It should not be framed as a temporary passing to a better place! Stop stepping away from the brutality and grotesqueness and beauty of your own existence. There is something vile, horrific in a detached and almost clinical way, to see people who inflict such violence on others—abuse, bigotry. It cannot be understated how white supremacist my fucking family is, jesus christ—separate themselves from the reality of death so thoroughly as to deny it its tragedy even in their own family.

And I know it's what he'd want, I know. I know what kinds of people my family are. But watching someone do the whole "if you don't know jesus accept him into your heart please please please please pleas eplease" thing at a funeral felt nauseating.

I do not love this man. I think he, like much of my white supremacist ass, culty ass family, was kind of scum of the fucking earth. But the reminder that my family, upon someone's death, will strip their skin clean from bone to deny they were ever made of meat is abhorrent, and there is something jarring to trying not to laugh at a funeral while everyone else is in tears.