Laughter at a Funeral-Part1

Most people would think laughter at a funeral is a bit demented. Maybe it’s a sign of some mental issue that should be remedied—fast! I’m sure it’s most definitely deemed horribly inappropriate as this is always a mourning event. Trust me. Though my heart is always heavy at these events, and I do shed tears for the one we’re saying our final farewells to, laughter at a funeral has been a constant in my life for years now. You’d be amazed at the giggles I’ve had while someone very near and dear to me lay only a few feet away in a coffin. It’s morbid; I know. But hear me out as I share some of my most fond funeral memories, and hopefully you’ll see why and how I can laugh during one of the saddest times of our lives.

1.Danny

I’ve been an honorary member of the King family since I was 12 (I’m 31). These people have watched me grow up. Monica has always been a second mother to me, and the girls like sisters. Chelsea is the youngest, and she was only 5 years old when I was introduced to the family. Around age 19 or so, she fell for a guy named Danny. He was a bit reclusive where the rest of us were concerned, but as far as Chelsea went, he seemed utterly and completely devoted to her. It wasn’t long before (surprise!) they’d gotten married (I found this out on one of my many visits), and Chelsea was pregnant with their now 3 year old daughter Nevaeh. During Chelsea’s fifth month of pregnancy, Danny was killed one night, in a gruesome accident. Arrangements were made, and Mandi and I took the time off of work to be there for Chelsea and the family. The night of the visitation, we drove over to the local funeral home. After paying our respects to the deceased, and handing out many hugs to the family, we moved ourselves to the waiting area; respectfully staying out of the way of the other friends and relatives who came from near and far. Tia (the eldest of the King girls) and her daughter Tori were waiting with us. Mandi, who’s even more uncomfortable in places like funeral homes, had become increasingly fascinated with the mystery door at the end of the hall, and was trying unsuccessfully to get Tori to go open it and see what was back there. We all sat somewhat quietly, observing the wide range of people who’d shown up. At one point, a small elderly lady with the longest silver hair I’d seen since my Granny’s joined a middle-aged couple by the door in a quiet discussion. Suddenly, Silver Hair had a terrible coughing fit—AND LET LOOSE THE LOUDEST FART I THINK I’D EVER HEARD.

Now, the way I was raised, when something like that happened in a place like where it happened, you pretended that it did not in fact happen at all. You ignored it completely, and did everything in your power to keep your composure. I did fine there. Tori turned slowly to face Mandi, and in total shock and disgust whispered, “That lady farted!”. Every ounce of composure and act-right that Mandi had left completely diminished. She calmly walked over to me, leaned down, and whispered in my ear, “That lady did the cough and fart!!!” Then she ran down the hall to the restroom where she apparently lost every bit of it. I was left out there in that waiting area, giggling so hard that no sound was coming out. I’d turned a very unflattering shade of maroon, had tears rolling down my face, and a hand over my mouth because I swear to God had I moved it, I would have scared everybody in that funeral home. Mandi came back out, and we sat on the couch, arms around throw pillows with our faces as buried as possible as we shook and cried from laughter. I’m thankful that people genuinely thought we were shedding tears of sadness. They would walk by, look sympathetically at us, and pat our hands while whispering, “I’m so sorry. It’s going to be okay.”

Once we were able to venture outside and catch up with everyone, Mandi told Tia about what had transpired in the waiting area. Tia wanted to know who the cough and fart culprit was. At some point while they were talking, Cough and Fart walked up and was standing directly in front of Tia. Mandi, who’d moved to the other side of the circle to talk to Monica, was frantically gesturing to Tia that she was right in the line of fire. This did not help my state of mind from the earlier laughing fit I’d had. Grabbing Mandi by the arm, I blurted, “We need to go to the car. NOW.” As we walked to my little yellow car, I kept chanting. “Get in the car, get in the car, shut your door! Hurry up! Roll up the window!” Once we’d accomplished all of that, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I burst into the biggest, loudest belly laugh I’d ever had. I was gasping for air, tears running down my face, and holding my stomach because my ribs felt as though they might just break any minute.  It was months before we were comfortable enough to tell Chelsea. Once we told her our story, she laughed, explaining to us that Cough and Fart was her beloved Danny’s grandmother.

That could be the end of that chapter, but there’s still the actual graveside service. We took the necessary time off of work, if only to be there by Chelsea’s side during the hardest part of all of this. While standing around waiting for the service to begin, I noticed something very abnormal. There was a woman, standing not too far in front of me. She was wearing what can only be described as a leopard print Band-Aid. This dress (or lack thereof) was strapless, and barely covered what no one should be waving around in broad daylight; let alone a funeral. Assessing her skimpy attire, I followed her legs down to the spiky, stripper-height stilettos and realized only one of her shoes had an ankle strap. And then I realized that it was not in fact an ankle strap for a shoe. This woman had come to a funeral service dressed like a stripper and wearing a house arrest ankle bracelet. In my futile attempts to figure out what exactly in the Hell she was thinking, I noticed she was having a hard time standing still. Ladies and gentlemen, if you are one of those scrawny, greasy, nasty looking meth addicts who is so strung out that you bounce more than a hot check before payday, stay your crazy tail at home. This woman shifted restlessly from foot to foot, hip to hip, messed with her hair, messed with her dress. Anything to keep moving. Mandi and I tried our best not to make our observations too loudly. I’m not really sure when the woman turned around, but suddenly I hear, “OH MY GOD AMBER!! GIRL I HAVEN’T SEEN YOU IN FOREVER!” Band-Aid and House Arrest was someone I knew. She’d been friends with my little brother when she and her family lived across the street from us. She hugged me, chattered away nervously, and abruptly walked away. Mandi stood beside me shaking her head and mumbled, “Leave it to you to know the only crackhead at the funeral.”