The Funeral

My family lives for funerals. They hate weddings, shun the Friday-night poker games I host and I have to twist their arms to get them to attend a birthday party. But say the words "Did you hear that so and so died?" and something amazing happens. Their eyes light up and their ears begin to twitch, they can hardly contain their anticipation. I once saw my grandma actually lick her lips! It was disturbing.

I think that I was adopted and not just because I'm blond and they have dark hair. I hate funerals. I find them morbid and the way my family descends on them like a swarm of locust in a wheat field makes me want to crawl in a hole. Don't get the wrong idea, they don't love the misfortune of others. They get an even bigger buzz if someone in my family dies. They love the going away parties. Let me tell you about when my grandpa died.

I loved my grandpa, he looked like an older John Wayne and would give you the shirt off his back. He was a veteran of World War II and Korea. He had been a paratrooper and landed on a mine behind enemy lines in Sicily. He lost his leg but had a neat wooden one that sported a hole in it about the size of a quarter, for ventilation, I suppose. My brother, sister and I would put pennies in that wooden bank. He could have shook the money out, but he thought it was funny, so he went around, the jingle of money bouncing around in his leg.

When he passed after a long bout with cancer I was devastated, yet relieved. He was at peace and felt no more pain. My grandma, who was the biggest fan of funerals among our group, had a great time planning the details. I'm not saying she wasn't sad, she had been married to him for over 50 years. She just liked the idea of picking out all the assorted nonsense that comes when a funeral is planned. Besides, she had a box full of funeral pamphlets that she had been saving for just such an emergency.

The day of his funeral was beautiful. The sun was shining and a brisk wind kept the heat from being overbearing, the birds sang their joy. The cemetery was a giant emerald jewel dotted by headstones of all shapes and sizes. Grandma had decided that graveside services would be the thing to do. She didn't want anyone crowded in a stuffy room. They needed a chance to mill around and see who all attended. Besides, she got better pictures if she took them outside.

Grandpa was a well liked man with a large family so the grave site was crowded. Grandma was sitting in her place of honor, a small smile of contentment on her lips. You could tell she was proud that so many had attended. That smile stayed on her face until about midway through. During a prayer for grandpa's soul, her head snapped up and her eyes grew huge as she jumped out of her chair. She made a bee line for grandpa's casket.

"Hang on a minute Pastor, I gotta see something!" She said as she raised the top portion of the coffin lid up. To my horror she proceeded to stick her arm down inside the coffin. She had her arm buried to the shoulder and one of her feet was off the ground when my Uncle Kenny jumped up and ran over to his mother.

"Mom! What in the hell are you doing?" His voice sounded unnaturally high, like he had been sucking on a balloon filled with Helium.

Grandma was very calm when she told him, "I was just checking to see if they had put his leg on him. He would be so mad at me if they stuck him in that hole without his leg."

"Well, is it there?" My uncle asked, clearly at a loss.

"Yes, it is." Grandma told him, her voice full of satisfaction.

"Good" He told her. He grabbed her arm and wheeled her away from the coffin and back to her seat. "It looked like you were feeling him up for God sake!"

After the laughing that rolled through the crowd had subsided, the confused Pastor continued.

I looked around, checking the crowds reaction to my grandma and her antics. That's when I saw my sister-in-law. She had become increasingly pale as the service went on. At first I thought that she might have just been in shock at my family and their funeral drama. When her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell head first into the coffin I decided that maybe something else was wrong.

All thoughts of grandpa flew from the minds of the funeral goers. A girl fainting and falling on the coffin was even better entertainment. A swarm of black surrounded the poor girl like a funeral wreathe. In all the excitement no one noticed that the locks on the gurney that held the casket had been knocked loose and grandpa was rolling away. He was heading down the slope that led to the highway and gaining speed.

I heard someone yell "Hey! There goes grandpa!" The chase was on. Every man and half the women went off after grandpa, a hoard of black gnats chasing a dog. Grandpa was finally caught and brought back to his resting place. Grandma exclaimed that it was the best funeral ever. All who attended received parting gifts, bags of black jelly beans and a cupcake with a picture of grandpa on it.

Did I chase after the coffin that had my grandpa tucked inside? Nope. I was cheering for him, hoping he would get away.

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