I'm traveling back east somewhat unexpectedly for my uncle's funeral. I'll be flying into Chicago early Saturday morning and driving over to my cousin's in Michigan, in a town that is in the middle of approximately nowhere. Good times to be had in flyover country, yall.
So we're all gathering for the death of man we admittedly thought was an asshole in life. It's a lesson in "you love your relatives, but you don't necessarily like them". However, a funeral is never actually for the person who died, since they're past the point of caring. It's for the rest of the family to process what's happened, and disliking the person doesn't make that any less important. The folks who are coming are the sarcastic, wine-quaffing, pun-making part of the family, including my cousin's new in-laws, so it could actually be some fun, in a macabre Six Feet Under sort of way.
It's such a strange thing to suddenly speak and write about someone in the past tense.