Funerals are weird by design.
Especially ones that involve a full blown Catholic Mass.
I’m going to assume you’re familiar with the way communion works, where towards the end of mass, everyone lines up and takes a bite out of Jesus. The family, sitting in the front pew, is apparently too bereaved to get in line, so the priest whom I am in love with, comes directly up to us and hooks us up.
After that, everyone else gets to go and is then forced to awkwardly walk past us.
Which is when this complete nutjob with black hair and gray roots the length of my arm practically tackles my poor, grieving mother and starts in on her crazy rant about nonsense which began with her screaming, “ARE YOU THE DAUGHTER?!?!?”
My mother, kneeling in prayer, mind you, is forced to at first smile and politely thank her for her apparent condolences and then, with the rest of us staring on, give Crazy the hint that it’s time to move on.
Needless to say, at the reception following, the main buzz was all about that crazy lady with the roots.
“Who was that?”
“I think it was a crasher.”
“A funeral crasher?”
“No, I think it was someone who reads the obits, and if she finds any connection with the dead person…”
“She shows up.”
“Yeah. Is she here?”
“No, you’d think she’s show for the free booze.”
“Weird. Did you see her roots?”
“The crazy lady that attacked Joanne.”
“Oh, I was wondering about her.”
And so it went, continuing even over breakfast this morning.
It’s probably safe to say that the one person missing from the Crazy Roots Lady discussion, the one person, really who would not have enough to say about Crazy’s behavior, coiffure and ensemble, would be my grandmother…