We both always found how the deceased was portrayed hilarious. It was like every bad thing they ever did in their life was wiped from the minds of those attending. The funeral could have been for a child molesting, ex-con who was forced to take classes, and who occasionally ate the neighbors dogs for lunch and someone would have the gall to say:
"Old so-and-so really liked children
You could never stop by his house that
he wasn't watching some neighbors child.
He was a self-taught man who spent years
furthering his education.
And he loved animals.
And while everyone else in the congregation/church would be nodding their heads in agreement and yelling out the occasional "hallelujah", mom and I would be trying to hide our laughter. We would get so bad we'd be clutching each other and holding Kleenex over our mouths to muffle the laughter, which sounded like sobs. One of us would whisper to the other, "Yeah, he liked animals . . . with ketchup!"
With our bodies jerking, our huddling together, and the tears running down our face someone would always come over and pat us on the back in support.
Which would just set us off again.
I'm sure it was partially due to how we dealt with stress -- or didn't deal with it.
Just another story from the weirdness that is my life.
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