MAYBE TOMORROW
By Bill Bates

Is a funeral really necessary or just a place to go to see others as unhappy as you are? A place where well intended but meaningless rhetoric stab like sharp darts piling on collateral damage in their wake.

“When my, Margret died the undertaker removed her from the house and that was the last time I saw her. Yep, this is defiantly easier. A few drinks even some laughter with close friends at the house. It’s going to be ok”.

“But there is this persistent head voice, a loud one, clamoring for my attention and I defiantly do not want to hear what it has to say. One thing I know dealing with head chatter, well, it’s tricky. Especially the persistent ones, they seep under and around crevices like dirty water until your drowning in it. You try to ignore it, “get busy, sing a song, and drown it out, anything. “O say can you see”, “100 bottles of beer on the wall”; but it just keeps coming, pushing its way in; in my face.”

“Go ahead,” it says “speak you mind and see how fast they give you your hat. You’re afraid to say the words going around in your head. So, you’re going through these stupid motions unable to scream or vomit the agony; can’t even say the unspeakable; can’t get the D word out”. “Passed away?”, “Laid her body down?” “Kiss my ass you rummy, I’ll say it for you, dead; there you go, dead, dead, dead.”

“Everyone here thinks it but can’t say it, can’t say it out loud or to your face; can’t say to the new boy on widowers row, “you poor bastard you’re really alone now and we’re leaving just as soon as the beer’s gone and then you’ll know how a big empty house that used to smell of fresh baked bread and furniture polish feels when there is no familiar smells, or sounds.” “News flash fumble butt; its quieter then death; it’s like not breathing, quiet, holding its breath waiting, blowing cold air up your ass. It’s waiting, quiet, waiting, and no one’s asking you “did you remember to stop at the store for the milk”. You didn’t and had mumbled something about “getting the milk is not my damn job for Christ sake. Now there is no one to answer when you ask “where is the paper”?”

“Just wait until tonight when you try to get into that bed you shared for 50 years. Don’t close your eyes, I know that much. When you close your eyes or get real quiet the horror show begins, fifty years of voices attack and what they say is all wrong, but you know that; but after all they’re just trying to help; right? There screaming inside your head, “it’s just going to be one dreary uphill struggle of endless, ugly days and dark empty, lonely nights and she’s not coming back.” “That’s it isn’t it, that’s the one that sticks in your throat. She’s not coming back, ever, ever. Your life is over pal, you’ve really done it now, you should have treated her better, loved her more. You know took her places, done the white man’s overbite a little caused she liked it, took her shopping; too late now, you blew it.”

“And so you start with the “if only” phase. “But don’t worry they say that stage only last a few years, if you make it before they put you in a rubber room.”

“You stay home most of the time now and watch TV. But when it just gets too empty and you get too crazy and life just seems ugly and mean you think about your 12 gage; but you don’t go get it, not tonight, you don’t know why not; there’s nothing left inside to kill anyway; maybe tomorrow.”
“You cowered, now you would do anything to see her one more time wouldn’t you, talk to her, and say all of the things you didn’t get to say; have a nice funeral so her friends could see her, tell her how sorry you are for being a jerk. You put on such a good act when people ask how you’re doing when you say great, doing great, you don’t even have anyone to talk to but me; god your dumb.”

“Sometimes you go to the mall and just walk around. Threes lots of hot little senior honey’s trolling the malls. That should work until you wake up the morning after with a knot in your stomach and a voice in your head screaming “she’s not her”, never going to be either. She has her own agenda and you don’t like it. Too bad! As a matter of fact everything about her is less then, worse then and, “O just go ahead and say it, she sucks and you just made the biggest mistake of your dumb life and you are an idiot, certifiable.”

“You remember when you were younger how sex worked to make you feel better but now you can’t get it up all the time and besides when you do it spoils the party when you start to cry just as she’s sprinting for home plate.

Maybe tomorrow!

The End Maybe

Suicide disproportionately impacts the elderly. The highest suicide rates of any age group occur among persons aged 65 years and older. There is an average of one suicide among the elderly every 90 minutes. Suicide rates among the elderly are highest for those who are divorced or widowed.

Resource: The National Strategy for Suicide Prevention, NSSP

Bill Bates is President and Founder of Life Appreciation Training. Since the origins of Life Appreciation Training in 1974, he has been a leading figure in the movement to personalize funeral practices. He can be reached at and

billbates@lifeappreciation.com.
www.lifeappreciation.com
www.funeralceremony.com.