Try not to laugh at hair

A long time ago now my Grandmother died. That was a horrible day for me since I had not known how ill she was and I was here and she was there. She was more than my Grandmother, she was my friend and I still miss her.

When she died I took the train the next day to New York since I had a need to be there for every single minute of the next few days. Mike and the boys followed a few days later. We all were there as soon as we could be to support each other. Brian and Sue drove nonstop from California and got there with time to spare. All of us mingled at the funeral home, some of us seeing and visiting for the first time in many years. I remember walking to the front of the room with Blythe and our mothers commenting on the oldest helping the youngest. I remember how hot it was. I remember lots of tears but lots of laughter, too.

During the wake, which in Brooklyn goes on forever and a day, the priest from St. Agnes' visited the funeral home to pray with the family and friends at the end of the evening. It is a nice thing to pray together. It is a really nice thing if the priest speaks English in it's conventional form, which this particular priest did not. He was an immigrant from a Spanish speaking country and had a particular way of pronouncing certain words that were a blend of languages. He prayed for my grandmother Ann-ha-laa. He said we were all there to say farewell to hair (not her, but hair). He prayed for Hair over and over again. It was interesting, it was odd and it was awful. When I finally heard how he was speaking and understood the essence of his accent I bowed my head lower. My cousin Angela was next to me and she bowed her head also. Then we started to giggle. I still cant believe that was me. I was laughing during my grandmothers wake and if you know me you will understand that I am not one of those people who laugh at others misfortunes. I dont laugh if you slip and fall or if you are walking around with broccoli in your teeth. I always try to be compassionate and empathetic. I feel sorry when I am supposed to feel sorry. This time I was just not me. I respect people and especially most men of God.

Very soon my shoulders shook and I was clearly losing it. Angela and I were dying on the spot in a fit of laughter. Our relatives saw our bodies quivering and assumed we were crying very hard and leaning on each other. However they soon figured it out and since then we have never heard the end of it. Angela and I are not allowed to sit together at funerals anymore according to Joan.

Somehow though I am not sorry. I think the emotions released through the giggles was a good thing, it was genuine and believe me, it was uncontrollable. I just hope Ann-ha-la was giggling, too.