John Lennon at my funeral

16 May

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter
Sandra Martzpapier

I guess that’s it. I’m dead! Bereft of life, departed, extinct, lifeless… Je suis morte! The show is over.
When did this happen? I can’t remember anything at all.
But since this is my funeral and I can see it from here, I  can confirm that I have ceased to exist there.
Wow that’s some piece of news, isn’t it? I mean for myself… not for the rest of the world. Although I’m delighted to see so many people attending my funeral.
Mairead, that’s so sweet of you. Do you remember when you asked us to write our own orbituary? I couldn’t do it. Thanks for coming anyway. And there is AnneMarie…  and Pili… chatting away. That’s nice.
So I died in Ireland. That’s weird. Maybe Spain wasn’t the right country for me after all. Funny, I really thought it would be.
But hold on, here is my mum. How come she’s here? And my dad! Come on, you never came to visit me when I was alive. Why do you come now? How? Did you get beamed up?
– “Well Imagine there’s no countries. It isn’t hard to do…
– I beg your pardon? Who said that?
– “ Hi. It’s me John!”
Now that’s bizarre. Is John Lennon really talking to me? We’re both dead alright but I wouldn’t have thought he would notice me here! Maybe I got really famous in my lifetime. Who knows…
– “Hi John. I didn’t expect to meet you here!”
– “Ah you know I am the walrus. Goo goo g’joob! …. Boy you’ve been a naughty girl. You let your knickers down…”
Poor John. He didn’t age well in death… Or marijuana is freely available in Heaven.
I’m still intrigued though. How come I don’t remember anything at all? Maybe my MS got so bad and I suffered complete memory loss. Or, better option: I died aged 100 completely senile. I always loved the poem “When I am an old woman”. Am I wearing purple?
Oops no I didn’t make it that long, unless I had major plastic surgery. By the look of me, I must have died in my forties.
Now that’s a disappointment. And I was going around telling everybody how yoga is great for you and will keep you fit till you’re 90!
You don’t get a refund if you’re not satisfied with your life do you?
I’m seriously frustrated now. I wonder if I made it to Spain though. I was having such a good time planning to move … What happened?
Maybe it was a road accident. Or poison.
Let’s investigate.  I always enjoyed detective novel. I’ll play the detective investigating her own death.
First, I look peaceful. Why did they put so much make-up on my face though? I hate it…
No damage to the head. Hey, is my brain still in? I had said I would give it to the Brain Bank for research. Come on! Get it out of my skull! I want to help science.
Ok something is not right. Too many things don’t fit. I didn’t want to be buried anyway.
Who decided? Mum is that you? Dad?
Oh no, look at that! I’ve got hairy legs!!!! What about the Dignity in Dying?
And what is this bell? Could anybody just switch it off please? I’m trying to investigate my own death… I hate this sound. It reminds me of my ….
-“Please don’t wake me…” , John starts to sing.  “No, don’t shake me. Leave me where I am. I’m only sleeping. Everybody seems to think I’m lazy. I don’t mind, I think they’re crazy…”
… my alarm!

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2 Responses to “John Lennon at my funeral”

  1. Mairéad Whyte May 16, 2012 at 11:45 pm #

    Veronique – just fantastic – what a fantastic piece of prose and wonderful imagination – I love it !
    It makes me stop, think and then think some more!

    • Mairéad Whyte May 17, 2012 at 1:17 pm #

      PS: I was also really intrigued in this piece and was left wanting to read more – it really grabbed me from the beginning. Thank you for sharing 🙂

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