An Irreverent Memory

I remember the astonished look on the mortician's face.
"I am not used to people finding this sort of thing funny," he scolded.
Funny?
Why not?
I believe it was the line, "Now for the merchandise," that set us off.
Whatever it was, the irreverent humor that overtook us was in fact entirely appropriate.
Had he been there, Bob would have led the way with his sardonic humor.
My two nephews and I, making decisions about urns and holy cards, guest books and obituaries.
For Bob.

We were exhausted. We'd been keeping vigil for nearly 48 hours.
And for the first time in months, we laughed.
Got the giggles.
And it felt good.
If you have ever been through it, you know just how absurdly tacky the "merchandise" can be.

Getting the giggles at such a seemingly inappropriate time is one of the great capacities we have as human beings to relieve tension.
We meant no disrespect. To Bob. To the mortician.
But it is true, that morticians do seem to look the part.
You know.
Cadaverous.
Long faced.
Milky white skin.
It didn't help.
It was, in truth, one of those purely human moments when the expectation of solemnity gave way to the honest release of emotion.
The three of us, like naughty children, found a way to get through the unthinkable. The unimaginable. The unbearable.
There was nothing funny about what we'd just come through.
But, I guess it's true what they say.
Laughter is the best medicine.