Many moons ago, and by that I mean last February, I wrote a blog mentioning that my grandma had passed away in January. I was inherently absent during that time, and then for awhile after I posted that blog. I always intended to write a follow up about her funeral, mostly because it was one of the oddest experiences of my life. I haven’t been able to do so until now for emotional reasons, but I think now would be a good time to share. It’s the one year anniversary of her death, and what a better way to honor her than with a blog for all the world to see. (Sorry, Grandma!)
One thing you have to understand is that my grandma was really funny. Like, really funny. I don’t know if it was on purpose or not, but she would just say these things and we’d all bust out laughing. She could come out with things that were cool with the teens, and also things that made everyone laugh. You never knew what was going to come out of her mouth, which was a really great thing about her. Whether I knew who she really was or not, like her death has left me to wonder, I can’t take away just how funny she was. I’m sure she’s still making people laugh in heaven.
There’s also another thing I know, and that’s that I got a lot of my humor for her. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for that, because if I can come out with the things she did at her age, I will be forever grateful and have nothing to complain about.
That being said, there was no way her funeral was going to be the somber meeting of family members and friends you haven’t seen in awhile like most are. I knew going into it that there would be a lot of crying, because she had a lot of friends who loved her dearly, but it would also be a quirky event. People would start talking and telling stories about her, and it would end up being a hootinany. It didn’t disappoint.
Some may think it to be in bad taste to speak of my grandmother’s funeral this way, but if you knew my grandmother you would know she’s in heaven watching me type this and laughing her butt off. And she always thought her butt needed to shrink, so I'm just trying to help her out. She’d be excited this would get posted. She’d be happy to know that we were remembering her as a funny woman, and not standing all over the place crying.
A testament to this would be the fact that she planned her funeral on her own. We thought this odd and were extremely taken aback when we found this out. We were especially taken back when she didn’t want anyone following behind the hearse to the cemetery to be laid to rest. Nor was there to be a gathering after. We simply had one viewing and one service to get it right. Her reasoning was basically that she was dead and it was ridiculous for everyone to go chasing after her, wasting their day, etc. She was a practical woman, and although we found this harsh and a little hard to swallow because we loved her so much, that was just her. So trust me, I have it on good authority that writing about this is a-okay with her.
Let’s start out with me telling you all that I got dressed in a pretty little outfit fit for a funeral. We were getting ready to leave the house and I realized something; I was so worried about getting dressed and looking proper for the funeral, that there was no me in the outfit. I was in drab clothing and about as neat as a pin. My grandma wouldn’t like this at all, because it just wasn’t me. I could just imagine my grandma, had she been alive, asking me why I was dressed like that. Because it was a funeral and I couldn’t dress like a colorblind monkey or anything, I put in pink Tinkerbell earrings, and you know what, I instantly felt better. They were me and I knew she would have adored that I didn’t take the me out of me for her funeral.
The funeral home became awfully crowded awfully quickly, and before I knew it, I was being accosted by people who kept asking me if I remembered them, because the last time they saw me I was two, or three, but never over five. They seemed genuinely disappointed when I didn’t, but they accepted it. Not until they gave me at least three hugs, but they did. I got hugged by so many older woman that I legitimately smelled like a perfume store had thrown up on me. As long as they accepted that I didn’t remember them and walked away, it was all good.
That was until one lady came along and kept repeatedly asking me if I remembered her. I told her no, but she insisted I had to and continued to tell me stories about her and myself when I was all of four. I finally said I remembered her. I lied so bad, but she was happy with this. Sometimes the best part of believe really is the lie. Oddly enough, I kind of liked this lady and wished that I had remembered her.
About an hour into the viewing, gram’s pastor showed up. To explain this properly you have to understand that I knew gram’s old pastor who was at the church for many years. However, he had just left the church and they had gotten a brand new pastor just a few months earlier, and we had never met. My mom had met her, but this really isn’t relevant to the situation.
I was making my rounds when I ran into a rather short lady who was wearing a full clergy uniform. I walked up to her and introduced myself, saying that she must be Pastor Jan. Her response:
“How did you know?” She faked being shocked that I could have possible have guessed this with her wearing her uniform and all.
She was easily the funniest pastor ever. She got funnier as the day went on. I love her and if I do get married, it will be by no one but her. I don’t care if she’s 104, she’s marrying me. I like a little comedy with my wedding.
Soon after this, Original Becky showed up. She brought donuts. To understand how this is funny, I must tell you a story.
Ten years ago, during my grandfather’s funeral, we were getting ready to leave when we noticed a huge box of donuts on one of the tables just outside of his viewing room. My mom, gram, aunt and myself started talking about how off putting it was that the funeral home went out and got donuts and left them lying there. It was in horrible taste, so my grandma, very upset and not thinking clearly, decided to mention it to them. That’s when they told us that they had not brought them, but one of the guests at the funeral had brought them; a really old, shorter lady with a lot of spunk.
We later found out that my Great-Great Aunt Pearl had brought them for the kids that were attending the funeral to keep the busy. After that, she always brought donuts to funerals, which was really awesome and also a little funny. We always enjoyed them. The last funeral in our family was hers, and Original Becky knew this, so she brought donuts. I think we probably laughed for a good five minutes, and I’m sure grandma was watching and laughing, too.
With Original Becky there, debauchery was bound to ensue. I am forever grateful that she came, genuinely stayed for a good hour or so, talked to me, got my mind off of things, got me away from people who kept hugging me, crying, and insisting I knew them, and brought donuts and a meat tray. Thank you, Original Becky. Seriously. You are the best.
During out conversation, several subjects came up. One of them was Criminal Minds. Yes, Squirrel Monkeys, we even talk about Criminal Minds at funerals. We keep it classy in Pennsylvania. It was fair considering that show was literally the only thing getting me through this time. I know that sounds dumb, but at night when you go home, everyone goes to bed, and you’re alone with your thoughts is the hardest time. I, however, was just getting into the show and between two different television channels, there was eight hours of the show on at night. I was able to sit down, space out, and watch the show into the wee hours of the morning until I feel asleep, not crying, not feeling dead inside. So maybe now you all can understand why I like this show a little more than makes sense.
So, to appropriately sum this up, we got to talking about a show where people kill other people, and FBI agents try to analyze the killer...at a funeral. Classy, I know. We were even having this huge conversation about the psych of the killer, when Don walked by. Don, his wife, and his daughter lived in the house behind and one over from my grandmother’s until she moved into a senior community. I grew up with his daughter and knew her literally all of my life. I am familiar with Don and his inappropriate comments, and now that I’m an adult, I just love him.
He happened to walk by at an apparently inappropriate time. I know Original Becky and myself had just made a comment about Dr. Reid and the sexual psych of a serial killer. I’m not sure how those two went together, but they did. This prompted Don to hear just that part, turn, and make the most obscure comment about penis size ever. Neither of us can remember the exact comment, but we can remember it was amazingly awesome, we were the only ones who heard it, and we couldn’t stop thinking about Dr. Reid that way at a funeral. Thanks, Don. No really, we thought it was awesome. Nearly a year later, we still do.
During this convo, Original Becky also could see me getting teary eyed and chose to bring up my whole serial killer bit. And by serial killer, we mean cereal killer. I had mentioned to her just days earlier that every time I hear someone on Criminal Minds taking about a serial killer, the image that immediately comes to mind is one of a spoon chasing cereal down the street and then killing it. Not someone eating it; not someone stepping on it, a spoon getting out of the drawer, out of the house, and chasing the cereal that has also gotten out of the cupboards and out of the house, down the street and then beating it to death. I don’t get it either, folks, but that’s what I picture.
On a side note, one day our neighbor's kids were screaming and harassing our dogs, and the neighbors were doing nothing to stop it. I was tempted to go and tell the kids, in an attempt to scare them, that every time they screamed a piece of cereal died. My mom and three of my friends thought this was brilliant. I couldn’t bring myself to do it, though. I’ll save it for a rainy day.
When we were done talking about Criminal Minds, cereal killers, and penis sizes, Original Becky and I thought we’d go hit my uncle up for some awesome stories. Since my grandma’s passing, my real aunt is no longer someone we associate with for several reasons that I won’t get into, but no matter how we feel about her, the man she is married to is pretty much the most hysterical person in the world. I hate to say this, but he tops Don. He says more inappropriate things and has more good stories. I’m sorry, Don. I like you both equally, but his stories are better.
Thankfully, funeral or no funeral, Uncle Ray did not disappoint. His line of work consist of him owning his own company which does various work, anything from electrical work, to construction, to painting, to remodeling. You name it, he does it himself with a help from a few employees. Over the years he’s gotten some pretty odd and stupid jobs.
The one that sticks out the most is when he was flown to either Mexico or India. I can’t remember which, and I know they’re not close to each other or anything alike, but it’s been awhile since I heard this story. Anyway, he was flown there because their computer systems weren’t working at a tech support place. He flew the whole way down there only to find that everyone in the office was so smart, they were stupid. They never plugged in the main plug for the computer system. He promptly plugged it in, got on the next flight and came back home all in the same day.
He’s also a bit of a hero here because he fixed the bomb robot for the city police squad about ten years ago. In doing this, he made several friends in the police force. One of them proceeded to get him involved in the following story, which he chose to share with us during the funeral.
The local police station had just gotten all new computers. They offered to have someone come in and set them up so that the police officer on the desk that day didn’t have to mess with it. She said no, that was okay, she was very familiar with computers and would have no problem setting them up during her shift, and it wouldn’t take her long. Obviously this was high priority, because they couldn’t go very long without their computers, being a police station and all, so they told her to go ahead and do it.
Three hours later the computers were set up, everything plugged in, but nothing turned on. Uncle Ray was called. When he got there he went all over everything. Everything looked good, including the way that the plugs were put into the surge protector. What didn’t look good, however, was that she had gone and plugged the surge protector into itself instead of into the wall, because she didn’t know what was going to protect the surge protector from a storm. Apparently, she also didn’t know that the surge protector needs power from the outlet in the wall for this to even be an issue. Folks, she carries a gun. It’s loaded.
Eventually the time came for the service, and Original Becky left, as she didn’t know my gram well enough to feel comfortable staying. This was fine, because she was nice enough to come there for me, to keep me company and show me support and I appreciated it. Right before she left, I was asked to do a eulogy during the service. I had no plans to do a eulogy, because in the crazy suddenness that was my grandma’s death, I simply hadn’t had time to think about it. It all happened so quickly. I didn’t want to agree, but I didn’t really do so, either. Pastor Jan just kind of decided I was going to do it and that was final. The look on my face must of been pretty horrific, because, as Becky was putting her coat on, she said, “It’s okay, just rant like you always do.” Obviously, you see where this is going.
I got up to the podium and the first thing out of my mouth was, “I didn’t have a speech planned for today and I kind of got forced into doing this, so my friend told me to rant like I always do, so that’s what I’m going to do.” Yep, that’s how I started my speech. Luckily, I pulled a bunch of stuff out of my invisible hat and it all went well. People laughed, shook their heads, and agreed with things I said. I could have won an award for the most disorganized, ranty speech to ever exist, but it was a funeral, I was the granddaughter of the deceased and I had no time to prep. I got let off the hook.
Thankfully, I soon became the least interesting thing about the service. I had just sat back down when the best thing that could have ever happened at a funeral for someone with my grandmother’s personality, happened. You see, we have a slightly mentally challenged family member. The booklet to the service was three pages long. The pastor was going into yet another Bible verse when the relative yelled out, “THIS IS A LONG SERVICE!”
My mom and I did the mature thing and cracked up, mostly because it reminded us of the time when we were all one big happy family, and my mom, my aunt, my grandma and myself were seated in a row at another relative’s funeral. The service was going on forever, and all of a sudden one of us cracked up for no good reason. This caused a chain reaction, and there the four of us were laughing hysterical in the middle of the world’s longest funeral service for no good reason, and failing at hiding it. It’s suffice to say that this lady made our day by bringing back a morbidly amusing memory.
As the service ended and people started to disband, my aunt and I were looking for Aunt Sarah. You have to understand that Aunt Sarah is lucky if she’s over four feet tall. This is not an exaggeration, she really is that short. She literally comes to about two inches below my boobies and I’m 5’5.
Earlier in the day, Original Becky, who is 5’8 and then had heels on, had the living daylights scared out of her when she happened to move to the side and out of the bottom of her eye caught Aunt Sarah standing beside her. Aunt Sarah had been there for some time, but being that she was almost two feet shorter than Original Becky, she never noticed until she went to move. I laughed. I’m sorry, Original Becky, but not really.
Anyway, we were trying to figure out if her son had come and retrieved her from the funeral, or if she wanted one of us to take her home since she was in her mid eighties and no longer drove. We looked for that woman and looked for that woman. We even checked behind a few chairs and a really tall podium. I kid you not, we really did, because she is just that short. Do you all want to know where we found her?
Behind Pastor Jan, who is 4’11 at best. So yes, the shortest person in the whole room was having a conversation with, and therefore unintentionally hiding behind the second shortest person in the whole room, and not at all on purpose. Only in my life, people. Only in my life.
Before we parted, I said my goodbyes to grandma. I didn’t know what to say but one thing. “Don’t go running around naked in heaven.” I realize how this sounds, and it’s pretty much like that. We had a running joke that, every time I would talk to her, the last thing I said to her before I hung up the phone, and right after I love you was, I would tell her to be good and not go running naked down the hallways. I thought this was a fitting way to send her into the afterlife, and I don’t think she’d have it any other way.
With all the pain that came with that funeral, and I still feel over her death, I truly found one incredible thing that will keep me tied to her forever. When she was my age, she married. She kept her wedding suit all of her life. I decided to try it on for shits and giggles. It fits me like a glove, like it was made for me. I fit into the one thing she wore on the best day of her life, and that’s the most beautiful way I could wish to be connected to her.
And also in honor of my grandma, I’d like to share a few gems that were excluded from last night’s post regarding online conversations. These came after. I know this would have made her laugh, but I’m still going to apologize for them anyway. Sorry, Grandma.
- Oh, this won’t end well.
I know guys, so that’s so open ended. That could go with just about anything I’ve ever said or done.
- She was writing something and trying to figure out if she should put pants on her character.
- I just washed my pajamas and they smell funny.
- They smell like they were eating pizza and pop tarts.
- And I am in one of those moods where I’m avoiding posting on Facebook because I could piss a lot of people off.
- I fell you?
- I want to know how that works.
- And I want to like it to be nice, but I can’t.
- And now he’s not sure if he likes me or not.
- I’m okay with that.
- The one who is like 10 billion feet tall and afraid of me.
- It’s so funny.
- For me, not him.
- That sounds so dirty.
Again, this could go with any conversation and just about anything I’ve ever said.
- I feel like a loser, OKAY?
- Unless he croaks fairly early, then I’m screwed.
- But you start asking me to do a tutorial that takes longer than ten minutes, and a child could do it in their sleep, you can suck it.
Sorry, Grandma.
- OMG, they’re so country!
I have no room to talk here, folks.
- THAT’S WRONG!
- THAT’S SACRILEGIOUS!
- THAT’S ILLEGAL!
What was that all about, you may wonder? My friend Googling Ian Somerhalder and coming up with pictures of Justin Bieber. I have three questions. Why? How? Why!?
- Then they think I’m nuts.
- Either way, no one messes with a crazy person.
- It’s a win / win.
- I will teach you my crazy ways.
- It was all kinds of special.
This could also show up in all my conversations without fail.
- When I heard they dated I was like, “well, that didn’t go well.”
I would be an awesome matchmaker, no? Oh, no. Right. No.
- Do you want me to sing to it as torture?
- Usually it’s when you say something, and they only do it so you can make an ass out of yourself.
- Can you see him trying to debate country music with Lo?
- I’ll pull something random out of my ass.
Not literally! You guys are sick!
- Some bitch could sneeze twenty miles from me and I’d catch what she has.
- Some really nice lady could sneeze twenty miles from me and I’d catch it, too.
- Ugh, no, hotness is an excuse.
- I mean, being hot is an excuse.
- Eh, same difference.
- I have my killer figured out, too. We’ve got our killers in a row, yo! Sorry about the yo. It rhymed with row.
I'm not sure the yo was the problem with these sentences.
- So, I can’t wait to find out who your killer is.
- Wait!
- Wait!
- Wait!
- That sounded wrong.
- THE BOOTS!
- I figured we already trolled on his mom. Looking up someone’s myspace couldn’t be that creepy, right?
If you have to ask... I always forget that rule.
- And by what can be described only as the Grace of God, I managed to spell David’s last name right on the first try. Just don’t ask me to do it again.
- Let’s recap what we’ve done with our night. We cyberstalked a picture of someone's mom, and successfully cyberstalked the dating status of every single Simple Plan member.
Guys, I had a fever. She’s awesome. Those are our stories and we’re sticking to them.
- We could so outdo Perez Hilton.
- I think we should sing campfire songs to it.
- That’s my answer to everything.
- She’s like, NO IT’S NOT! THE NOSE PICKER?
- Does he smell good? Because if he smells good, jump him.
- I’m such a good influence.
- Find him, smell him, proceed from there.
What have I told you about taking my advice? Right. Don’t do it. Ever.
- Okay, I know I can’t rationalize things that way.
That’s all for today, folks. I’m going to hug my Macbook and thank it a million times over to dislodging whatever was stuck in the mouse that was causing it to malfunction. I would have had a breakdown that would have landed me in a sanitarium had Mrs. Macbook passed.
Also, Zoe, I know there’s nothing in here from our conversation, but the son of a monkey’s uncle didn’t save. Boo.
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