Etiquette for the dead.

My father passed away recently, a harrowing experience that fortunately I will only have to go through once. Although I am close to my father in law too, so maybe not. It is of course part of life's normal order that we should, at some point bury our parents. I buried my Dad many years ago on Withernsea beach, but of course he wasn't dead then.
It is perhaps part of the healing process that I can find some humour in the darkness. Dad always had a grin on his face, and the wrinkles around his eyes were not from the weariness of age, but from the laughter that filled his life, whatever the hardships thrown at him, so it is natural I suppose that I inherited some of that humour and attitude. So whilst the last two weeks or so have been awful, there have been moments to reminisce and remember the good times too.
Dad loved a joke, so he would have found it funny that on greeting the assembled congregation of friends and family Father Dominic, the Catholic priest conducting the requiem mass for Dad welcomed everyone to Martins' funeral - I am Martin, my Dad was Dennis, but he would have laughed out loud at the mistake. More than I did. I had to check my pulse to make sure I was still here. In his defence Father Dominic had dealt almost exclusively with me for the funeral arrangements, and I had just thrown in a few last minute changes, so he probably had me in mind instead of Dad. And he did have the decency to apologize for his gaffe.
Anyhow, having given that little introduction the matter of funeral etiquette is the topic of today's blog.  
I have acted as pall bearer once before - one of the hardest jobs in the world if it is one of your own, but something that in my mind simply MUST be done. We look after our own ought to be our family motto. (It isn't, Ultra Pergere is the family motto - meaning "To advance further") But we do look after our own. I carried the coffin of my nephew Kai Dennis who died in infancy, sharing that emotional burden with his Dad , my brother David. Carrying a featherweight coffin, knowing that a life has been snubbed out within two weeks was a heavy burden. Carrying your Dad is no easier, but the emotions are different I suppose. David who is serving in the RAF has service values, so it was natural he would want to shoulder the burden too, but what threw me was the rest of the family. My older brother Andrew stepped in, along with my nephews, Roger and Richard, but what raised a few eyebrows was when my sister Sheila also took a handle. The churchyard almost emptied of air as older relatives sharply inhaled. A woman, carrying a coffin? Well, why not? Tradition has it's place of course, but I was proud of my sister for having the guts to do it, Dad would have been proud too. It would have meant a lot to him. I'm not sure where in the book of decent etiquette we stand on that one, but it was right for us, and that's what counts.
I picked up Dads ashes today from the funeral directors. This raises another set of questions as to etiquette. Should the ashes go in the car boot? That seemed disrespectful and wrong to me, so I sat him on the back seat, and put the seat belt around him. Then there was the question of where to take him. My youngest sister asked why I had left the ashes in the car when I visited mum, but mum gave the impression she didn't want he ashes in the house. So he came home with me. But then comes the question of where to keep him? I know he wanted his ashes scattering on the River Humber where in life he loved to go fishing, but until then he has to stay somewhere. What does etiquette and convention dictate? Leaving him in the garage or shed seems disrespectful and tasteless, but setting up a shrine in the house seems excessive. I settled for placing him in the front room alongside the fireplace, but my wife is uneasy even with that. He looks quite smart in a red velvet bag, covering a black plastic container. He's certainly lost a few pounds since last Thursday too.
In a few days time of course it wont be a problem, I'll get the family together and we'll scatter the ashes in accordance with his wishes on the river. But until then I hope I'm doing the right thing, because nowhere is there any guide to what to do with the ashes of a dead parent.

God recalls all humans manufactured dawn of time to present day for modification.

For some years now the motor industry has had a system in place where if a car or component on a car develops a safety issue they can recall the model or batch concerned for replacement or modification of the affected part. This has saved many lives. It is a good thing.
I wonder however if God the creator has a similar system in place. Recent events cause me to believe this may now be necessary. I am not talking about things like heart or brains, which are no longer fit for purpose as they wear out before the rest of us does these days with our advances in modern medicine. We can hardly blame God for extending our life span beyond the warantee period.
No the problem lies in a malfunction I discovered on my 1968 male model body. It is of average mileage and in reasonable condition, but probably in need of a tune up, however I suspect the fault I experienced could be replicated in other models of any age or sex.
Those of a nervous disposition may chose to stop reading now. But then you'll be at risk if this happens to you. It would seem that due to a design flaw, under certain conditions, such as eating salad dressed in hot chilli pepper sauce (Yes, I know, I have unusual tastes) it is possible to sneeze and hiccup at the same time. This involuntarily forces small pieces of red hot chilli coated lettuce into the nasal membrane, where the result is somewhat spectacularly painful.
Over the years I have been sprayed with CS gas, Pava Spray and various other noxious irritants. Believe me this is worse. Unable to see due to the gallons of water gushing from my eyes, and struggling to breathe because of further sneezing triggered by the irritant and more hiccups every time I tried to draw breath I genuinely thought my number was up. And the burning pain was beyond description in a family Blog. At one point I paid serious consideration to taking my nose off with a blunt axe to try and relieve it. Trying to douse the fire by snorting water up my nose throw a straw didn't help matters, if anything it just spread the flames further. My wife returned home from work to find me apparently having some sort of religious seizure whilst waterboarding myself in the kitchen sink. The words "God help me," bubbling through the suds of fairy liquid must have come as a shock . With drinking straws on the worktop and me flushed, sweaty and foaming at the mouth she probably thought I'd downed a kilo of heroin. Perhaps I should have emptied the washing up bowl first, but it was an emergency.
What are the odds of such a hiccup/sneeze backfire I wonder? Whatever they are it is too high a risk. God should recall all humans and fit them with some sort of blowback control valve. Perhaps hiccups could be diverted via the backside. A few uncontrollable farts must be less embarrassing than drowning in your own washing up, and definitely less painful.