We live not too far outside of New Orleans. It’s also currently in the middle of Jazz Fest, which is easily one of our state’s biggest festivals with a massive lineup of musical artists.

We’re at home, and I read out a headline whilst checking for local news.

Me: “‘Missing man found dead in [Our Parish]’.”

Mom: “Who’s that?”

Me: “Huh?”

Mom: “You said Missy Man was found dead here?”

Me: “…Jesus Christ, Mom, I said missing man.”

Mom: “Oh… that makes a lot more sense… I thought it was some celebrity here for Jazz Fest I’d never heard of, and I was confused how they found themselves dead in our parish of all places.”

My Mom’s dad had passed away a couple of days previously. The night before the funeral, a dark and stormy night, the funeral home called at 9 PM to tell my mom she had forgotten a tie for the suit for tomorrow’s showing. She freaked out, realizing she would have to drive over to the nursing home to fetch a tie and then drive to the funeral home.

Dad, who loved his clip-on ties and had many of them, said:

Dad: “Oh, don’t go doing that trip on a night like tonight and at this time of night! Just grab one of my clip-on ties and take it with you in the morning.”

My mom, who actually hated that my dad had never learned to tie a tie, responded without missing a beat:

Mom: “My father wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a clip-on tie!”

Seconds after she realized what she had said, she burst into tears, but they were from laughing.

After leaving the Marines, the spousal unit was able to get his teaching certification through the Troops to Teachers program and began looking for jobs. The staff at a small country school district where he applied interviewed him, liked what they saw, and submitted his CV to the school board for approval to hire him as a geography teacher. However, some of the members expressed concern about his lack of pedagogical experience.

First Board Member: “I see he’s certified for geography, but other than student teaching, he has zero time in the classroom.”

Second Board Member: “I don’t see the problem. H***, he’s probably invaded most of them countries he’s gonna be teaching about.”

They hired him.

We’re visiting my grandparents in an assisted living facility. My family is prone to dark humor, but we also need to temper my mom’s expectations of how she’s planning on relying on us when she gets older.

Me: “Some day, I’ll bring my kids to visit you here!”

Mom: “Don’t say that! I’ll live with you, or [Brother]!”

Me: “Not with me, you won’t!”

Mom: “How can you be so cold to your own mother?”

Me: “So how come you can justify putting your own mother in here, but I can’t?”

Mom: “Grandma had her savings! These places are very expensive!”

Me: “Well, start saving.”

CONTENT WARNING: Dark Humor

My dad, with the sort of timing that is characteristic of him, died of a massive “coronary insufficiency” the morning my brother and I were due to come home from university for Christmas break. He had emotionally, verbally, and financially abused us for most of our lives and had been an alcoholic for at least half of them, so truthfully, we were more annoyed than actually grieving.

Of course, that’s not the script you run for people who don’t know you well, so when the pastor came over to do the grief counseling thing, my mom was trying not to blurt out that if he was going to pray with us, we’d prefer it to be a prayer of thanksgiving. Instead, she let him do all the comforting speeches.

My brother and I simply listened; neither of us particularly liked the pastor, either.

Pastor: “Now, have you thought about funeral arrangements?”

Mom: “No, no, I…”

Me: *Perfectly deadpan.* “Eh. We’ll give him a Viking funeral. Push him out into the lake in a rowboat and shoot flaming arrows at it.”

Brother: *Also perfectly deadpan, without missing a beat.* “We can’t do that, [My Name], the lake would catch fire.”

Pastor: *Making a show of looking at his wristwatch.* “Uh, I’ve gotta get home to my bride…”