I’m thinking when I kick it and go to the Big Hillary-Ville in the sky, I want a jazz funeral. Hopefully this doesn’t happen for a few hundred years, but I like to have a plan in place just in case.
You can stop looking at me like that; I know it sounds odd, but hear me out. I went to a wake last night – my dad’s dad passed away — and the family was holding up surprisingly well all things considered. It wasn’t as gloomy as some services I’ve been to. There was solemn, yes, but by all appearances (and yes, I understand appearances can be deceiving) people were doing okay. The funeral will likely be much harder on everyone, but for all intents and purposes, the wake was less about the loss and more about celebrating Mr. Condon’s life and banding together as a family.
Celebrating life is where it’s at, folks. And no one celebrates a life better than the folks at a jazz funeral.
If you’ve never seen one, you’d be doing yourself a disservice to not at least watch the first few minutes of this clip:
People grieve, but they grieve while they dance and play music and sing. They celebrate the man that was all the while comforting themselves with their faith and the knowledge that the dead person is going to the Big Heavenly Jazz Cloud. When the casket leaves the church, you see people rocking it back and forth. This is so the dead can dance to one last song before he’s/she’s put to rest. I don’t know. If I had a choice between a long line of grievers weeping and feeling like crap or this? This would win every time.