I laughed. I cried. It was better than Cats. (A very memorable memorial)

Yesterday was my grandmother’s funeral.

I didn’t really think much about preparing the kids for it.

They had never been to a funeral before and had no idea what to expect.

On the drive there, Number 3 asked me,

“Mom, is a funeral like a wedding?”

“Well, your life is basically over once you get married.

So yeah.

They’re pretty much the same thing,” I told him.

The service was at the Lutheran church that my grandmother attended for over 60 years.

It’s where my dad went to Sunday school and where I went to Sunday school.

It’s a cute little classic Scandinavian church.

When we got there, most people had not taken their seats.

There is a room off to the left of the church where you enter from the parking lot side of the building.

Just about everyone was congregated in there.

People were greeting each other, talking, hugging. Catching up.

The pastor of the church is a young woman.

Pastor R.

She’s a pretty hip pastor.

Seeing as we never go to church, the kids didn’t know who she was.

Number 4 called her “the girl with that cool dress on” and she ran right over to her to say hello.

“I’M SO EXCITED!!!” squealed Number 4, jumping up and down.

Never having had the true Number 4 experience, Pastor R was a little perplexed by this.

“Why?” she asked Number 4.

“BECAUSE THIS IS MY FIRST FUNERAL!!!” Number 4 yelled.

Leave it to Number 4 to (unknowingly) add a little levity to any situation.

So we took our seats.

My husband, the kids, my brother and I all sat in the 4th row from the front.

We were getting the kids settled.

Once they were all seated, I turned around to see who was sitting behind us.

There were some people entering through the back of the church.

I was waving to people, yell-whispering, “HIIIIIII” to a couple people I hadn’t seen in years.

And then,

CCB came through the back door.

Cool College Babysitter.

She didn’t know my grandmother.

I had no idea she was coming.

She saw the obituary posted on Facebook, and she just showed up.

I went from smiling and waving, to a complete puddle.

I couldn’t believe she came there for us.

I just love her.

Of course the kids all wanted to sit with her.

Number 5 spent most of the service in her lap.

Number 4 sat snuggled up against her.

I was very thankful to have her there.

Not being a church going family, the kids don’t have much church experience or etiquette, but they behaved surprisingly well.

There was really only one small outburst.

Number 6 was trying to open a hymnal with one hand and stick a paper inside the pages with the other.

The cover was slippery, and the book kept sliding down his legs.

When, at a very quiet time during the service, the book inevitably fell on the floor,

he yelled in a fit of hymnal sliding anger,

“STUPID!!!”

With every hymn that was sung, Number 5 swayed with the music and waved her arms in the air like a conductor.

When my brother finished the reading from Ecclesiastes and stepped down from the pulpit, Number 3 started clapping.

I was on such an emotional roller coaster that all I could do was laugh.

And Gma would have appreciated every little breach in church etiquette.

About halfway through, it was my turn to speak.

If you read yesterday’s post, then you know what I said at the service.

I started crying before I even read the first word.

In the mad dash to get out of the house that morning, I forgot tissues.

I searched under the pulpit for some and was eventually rescued by my cousin, who ran up and gave me her hankie.

I struggled through just about every sentence of what I had written.

I hardly looked up.

There were a few people I knew I could not make eye contact with.

People who, if I saw their faces, I knew would push me past the point of no return.

But I made it through.

As I walked back to my seat, my dad stood up.

He looked right at me and said,

“Thank you.”

And then we stood there and hugged each other.

And bawled our brains out.

I wanted to make my Gma proud, but I also wanted to make my dad proud.

And I think I did.

We collected ourselves, and I made it back to my seat.

Number 3 very sweetly rubbed my back.

“I liked your speech, Mom,” he whispered.

The kids were a little taken aback by their crying mom.

They weren’t quite sure what to do.

But they sure were on their best behavior after that.

So now I’ve got another tool in my arsenal.

“If you guys don’t stop that now, MOMMY’S GOING TO START CRYING AGAIN!!!”

Of course, the best behavior only lasted a little while.

Before too long, Number 5 and 6 had to go potty.

We were sitting on the left side of the church, which has folding doors that open up to that side room where everyone was congregating before the service started.

I took Number 5 and 6 through that room and downstairs to take care of business.

When we came back upstairs, they went back to their seats.

And that is when the best part of the whole day happened.

There was a guy standing in that side room at the very end of our pew.

He had gotten to the service a little bit late.

I had no idea who he was, but he was a pretty good looking guy.

He looked like he was about my age.

I thought it was a little strange that he was just standing there the whole time.

When I came back up from the bathroom it was that point in the service just before communion, and people were greeting each other and saying, “Peace.”

I seized the opportunity to find out who the handsome stranger was.

“Um…who are you?” I asked him.

He looked at me and said,

“I’m the guy from your speech.”

I had no idea what he was talking about.

I tilted my head and crinkled my forehead.

“Huh?” I said, confused.

“I’m the kid

on

the

bike,” he said.

The one your grandma ran over.”

Ho. lee. shit.

I could not stop laughing.

And that right there shows you how great my grandmother was.

How awesome was my grandma?

My grandma was so awesome,

that even the people she tried to kill came to pay their respects at her funeral.

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