Patsy Cline's got nothing on me!

I think I’m going to start posting my notes from our Wednesday night discussions of Sex God. I’ll try to get the stuff from last night up later tonight or tomorrow morning.

Here’s one more bit about Matt Miller. Here’s a story I found yesterday from the Tuscaloosa News. It’s another small glimpse at the impact he had on his community.

I made it to the funeral and back safely yesterday. Will Powell made the trip down with me. His wife, Emily, went down the day before so he rode back with her. It was nice to have some company for the drive. I like Will, even though I usually have to listen to stories about Alabama football when he’s around. Yesterday, though, on the day of Matt’s funeral, it seemed appropriate.

As funerals go, it was not bad at all. Lots of stories. Lots of laughter. Lots of tears. And tons of people!

When we got there, the parking lots were completely full. We ended up parking on an adjacent street and walking a couple of blocks back to the church. I have no idea how many people the sanctuary at St. Mark UMC in Vestavia will hold, but it was packed. They also had a closed circuit TV set up in the gym for overflow. Luckily Emily had saved a couple of seats for us in the sanctuary.

As I sat there listening to the preachers and family and friends share stories of Matt’s life and his impact on their lives I thought about all of the people there. I thought about the number of people Matt had touched in his young life. I wonder if he had any idea how many lives he touched? As I commented to someone last night, it’s too bad we don’t know that while we’re alive.

I, being the completely unbalanced narcissist that I am, often wonder just that. “I wonder how many people will show up to my funeral?” “If I had a terrible wreck, I wonder who would come visit me in the hospital.” I’m insane, I know.

Let me share a little more of my crazy with you.

I hate funerals. I’ve written about this before. I hate them. That’s not crazy. This is: I don’t like funerals because of me. I don’t like talking to people who just lost a loved one. I might say something stupid. If I do that, they may hate me.

I don’t like seeing people cry. It makes me uncomfortable. No one likes to be uncomfortable.

When I go to a funeral, this is what I think about. I don’t think about the loss the family suffered. I don’t think about the life that was cut short. I think about getting out of there as soon as possible and talking to as few people as possible.

You know what, from now on I think I’ll keep my crazy to myself.