Today I attended the first funeral I've ever gone to. It was

for my sister's father-in-law, who died after a two-year battle with

liver cancer at the age of 55.

It was a pretty surreal experience, seeing someone I'd talk to

lying in a casket, dressed up like he was in life, and made to look like

he was just sleeping. That's the first time I've ever gotten that close

to a dead body, and man...something about that was just really strange.

The memorial service was pretty beautiful, and the slideshow they showed

of his life pretty much had me bailing, as well as when his brother and

sister went up to talk, especially when the sister, "I'd never thought

I'd be standing here so soon." It killed me when they talked about my

sister Christine, and how her father-in-law loved her, and treated her

as if she were her own. My sister started dating their son about seven

years ago, and I just remember how easily and readily they have accepted

her into their family, and for many years, my sister finally had the

father figure that she didn't get to have growing up. I was grateful to

him for proving my sister that. He and his wife were together for a

total of 38 years- ever since meeting at University of Delaware party

way back when, and you could just feel the tight bond he and his wife

had together whenever we met with them.

The whole day was long and sad, but I also felt privilieged to

be there, celebrating the life of a genial, simple man who led a life

full of love, which will be carried within their hearts of his wife, his

children, and his grand-children. The best part of the speech was when

the speaker joked about how my sister and her husband will have a baby

boy someday, and name him after the father. (My sister does plan on

giving her future son the middle name of her father-in-law.)

Funerals, I've heard, are a day for reflection upon the life of

those who have passed, and a day of reflection for your own life. It

made me think about how and what I want to remembered for, when it comes

for my time to go.

I don't think I want to be buried, because I don't think I want

my body six feet under, waxed up and made to resemble what I looked like

alive. I want to be cremated, and I want my ashes to be spread over the

Atlantic, because I think there's nothing that ever made me happier than

laughing and dancing around the waves on a warm summer day. (And one

cold fall day, back when I was 16.) Instead of a burial, I want a tree

to be planted in my memory at a state park, with a plaque stating,

"Jeremy Richard Smith. 1985- (Year of Death). Historian, Party Kid,

Family Guy, Basketcase, and Good Friend, all rolled into one. We

wouldn't have had him any other way."

I want lots of laughing and dancing when people remember me. I

don't want any crying- I want people to boogying down on the dance floor

to songs I'd always loved to dance to, like "(Apache) Jump On It' and

"Flashlight" by Parliament. I want silly, crazy stories told by family

about the crazy, precocious toddler I was. And I want my high school and

college budies to tell the funny, crazy stuff I did as a teenager and a

twentysomething, always with a goofy grin on his face. I want to be

remembered as a good guy, who was nice and had a big heart. Maybe a bit

of an annoying pain-in-the-ass sometimes, but someone you knew had your

back if and when you needed it. I want to be remembered as a guy who

loved to laugh, who loved to do the Molly Ringwald Breakfast Club dance

to 80's music, and who loved the color of the fall leaves and the way

the sunset looked over the beach and Atlantic Ocean.

Most of all, I just want to be remembered as someone that had a

positive impact on you, and someone you were better for having known. I

think that's the most any of us can ask for, and that's something I try

and work on by doing what I can to treat people how I want to be

treated, and just...caring.

So those are my thoughts after a funeral. Anyone wanna share

theirs?