The funeral was horrible. It wasn’t a funeral but a cremation service. It was nicely organized and all but still horrible. At least, cremations are better managed – and yes, it sounds bas but I don’t know how else to put it – in North America than in Ukraine.
In Ukraine, you say your goodbyes to the body, and then this big oven opens and the body rolls in there right in front of you. Very insensitive, like everything in my country.
Graciela’s first husband (the abusive one) was there. It’s the right thing because he’d supported her like nobody else in the final months but he’s still annoying as fuck. I’m weeping over the body, and he approaches and exclaims, “what, you didn’t recognize me? You don’t remember who I am?” And no I didn’t. The last time I’d seen him was in 2003, and he was threatening to beat me up for ruining his marriage. Which is ok, I’m over it, but I didn’t particularly try to retain his facial features. Of course, it’s not like he could ruin the funeral experience because you can’t make it much worse than what it is.