Of chemical reactions and an active imagination

We're back from Jim's funeral.
Oh, how was it?
I'd give it two thumbs up, minus a few points for the preacher's performance.
You shouldn't mock a funeral. That's just wrong.
I'm not mocking the memorial service. His family's remembrances were particularly moving, and there wasn't a dry eye in the house.
You sound so disrespectful. Their loved one has died and is gone forever.
I'm not being disrespectful of anything relating to Jim and his family and friends. The two of us even cried as we recalled stories of how Jim touched our lives in so many ways. I can't believe we'll never see him again. All the things we'd planned to do, but never got around to. Time, wasted.
He's in a better place, now.
His body is in a box awaiting cremation.
But, I mean, heaven! He'll be happy and pain free. You'll meet up with him again someday.
Let me stop you right there. This is where I took issue with the platitudes and fantasies offered up by the preacher man.
Do you think for one instant that the family took the slightest bit of comfort in hearing how Jim, a sinner, has been saved by the lord and led to pretend fantasy land to be happier than he was down here with them, all because some high falutin' big shot created his own child (half man, half magic) for the sole purpose of being murdered to allow us to break free from the miserable life we've led and thus live on forever in the place that is so perfect and wonderful and need-free that it defies the very essence of the sacrifices we are supposed to endure down here as mortals? Sorry, you lost me. Wait, where are you going? I'm not done!
When you die, you die.
And so it goes.