The "for sale" sign was already up in front of the house. It wasn't by choice, but it had to happen. How else was this going to be paid for? Sure, everyone at Temple had taken up a pretty sizable collection for them, but dying was expensive. Not something he would have guessed.
He was wearing a suit that belonged to someone's cousin. It probably cost more than he made in a week, and he was desperately afraid he was going to ruin it because it was a bit too tight at the shoulders. He just didn't know how to say no, and he did need a suit.
If it was up to him, they wouldn't be doing this. Sure, he was a Jew, but that didn't mean that he wanted to sit around for a week, worrying about something that wasn't going to change. Who holds vigil or whatever anymore? Oh, right, the small, but devout, Jewish community of Lima, Ohio, which had rallied around him and Sarah.
Puck wasn't about to cry over it. Well. He had cried really hard about it for a few hours. Then he had fucked Santana hard. Chicks were suckers for emotional dudes.
Puck just wanted to be alone to try to come to terms with the fact that he would never see his mom again. And maybe hold his little sister. Instead, he had to sit here and listen to recitations in a language that he couldn't remember much of, next to a body that would never hug him or even scold him ever again, surrounded by people whose faces he knew but couldn't recognize at the moment, and be forced to share his grief.