I’m a manager. I get a call from an employee.

Employee: “I can’t come in today; my mom died.”

I offer my condolences and tell her to take the time off that she needs. Less than an hour later, I get another call, this time anonymously.

Anonymous Caller: “I know [Employee] called you to tell you that her mom died. She’s lying.” *Click*

This makes me a little suspicious. While mostly okay, [Employee] does have a habit of calling in often. In the meantime, word has got around, and the office has collected an envelope of money to help with the costs of the funeral and missing work. I call the number I have on the employee’s file to send my regards and get an address to send flowers.

Me: “Hello. Can I speak to [Employee], please?”

Person: “She’s in Vegas with her friends for the weekend. This is her mother. Can I take a message?”

Me: “You’re her mother? You’re [Employee]’s mother?”

Person: “That’s right.”

Me: “And… she’s gone to Vegas for the weekend?”

Person: “Yes! Why are you repeating back everything I’m saying?”

Me: “I’m just… very relieved to hear that you’re okay!”

I explain, and her mother is shocked to find out her daughter used her death as an excuse to go to Vegas for the weekend.

When [Employee] returns, I hold a big meeting with everyone in the office and present her with the envelope of money and flowers. She actually takes it and fake-cries. I call her into my office to reveal:

Me: “We all know your mom’s alive. There’s no actual money in that envelope.”

Employee: *Changing her demeanor entirely* “Ugh… I don’t give a f***.”

She threw the flowers into the trash and stormed out, shouting that she quit to everyone laughing at her.

CONTENT WARNING: Death/Loss

I found out at 11:30 pm that my dad had died. I was to be at work the next day at 8:00 am for breakfast/lunch service, and it was only me working it. I sent an email to my manager and explained, telling him that I would come in for my shift but that I’d need the next week off and I’d discuss it with him later on.

I came in the next morning and started setting up, and then in walked my manager. He stopped dead when he saw me.

Manager: “What are you doing here? I didn’t expect to see you.”

Me: *With a bit of a forced smile* “Well, I couldn’t just not come in. I’m the only one…”

I trailed off. [Manager] offered me a hug.

Manager: “When my brother died unexpectedly a couple of years ago, I didn’t take the time I needed to process it, and it messed me up for a long time. Take the rest of the day off — and however long you need — to make this okay.”

I ended up taking fifteen days off. I don’t know what [Manager] did, and I didn’t ask, but he somehow managed to arrange things so that I didn’t lose pay for most of those days. My pay was as if I’d taken just a day or two off, which was above and beyond what I expected from any employer. He didn’t want me to have something else to worry about while I was off or after I returned to work.

He put my well-being before profit, and I took note. Great boss, excellent human being.

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I was working at a funeral where I watched the estranged Spanish mother of the deceased try to threaten and intimidate the young English widow. The thing is, from what I could tell, Spanish [Mother] didn’t speak English, and English [Widow] didn’t understand a word of Spanish.

Mother: *In Spanish* “You’re going to pay for taking my son away from me and from his country! I’m going to make your life miserable!”

[Widow] was just smiling and nodding. [Mother] was getting increasingly frustrated, and she finally got out something like:

Mother: *In English* “You… he… meet soon!”

[Widow] took it in a very different way than what was intended and scooped [Mother] up in a big hug.

Widow: “Thank you! I love you, too!”

[Mother] gave up and stormed off. I managed to keep my face straight long enough to pull the deceased’s brother aside and have a word. The brother rolled his eyes and assured me:

Brother: “I’ll have my mom on the first plane back to Spain. We’re letting her grieve, and this is how it’s coming out.”

I retreated to the prep room for more tissues and saw [Widow] talking to her Spanish brothers-in-law without their mother present — in perfect Spanish.

I’m reminded of some simple advice for Florida: never assume someone can speak Spanish. And never assume someone can’t speak Spanish.

CONTENT WARNING: Dark Humor, Implied Abuse

My mother was just an awful, awful, awful person. She reveled in conflict and loved to inflict pain. There were only ever two modes with her: horrible or raging. When she finally died, we knew no one would want to celebrate her life. So, we sent an email that read:

Email: “Dear fellow survivors and victims of [Mom], the happy day has come! We invite you all to a celebration of the passing of the worst person any of us has ever known, [Mom’s Full Name], so we can all finally begin to heal from the trauma she inflicted upon all of us.”

We honestly didn’t expect much of a response, but we were overwhelmed by the number of people who were on board with our dark festival. The most surprising was my mother’s brother, an uncle we only knew through contemptuous reference.

On the day of the event, we laid out a buffet and loads of booze and kicked things off with “Ding Dong, The Witch Is Dead”.

Next was a ceremony where we gathered around the toilet door with the box of her ashes and a ladle. We’d prepared well and layered a sheet of toilet paper in the bowl before and after each person was invited to share their “fondest” memory of the b**** who bore me.

My uncle started.

Uncle: “On the day my sister married, my father gathered us all together and said, ‘She’s gone now, and you will never have to put up with her again.’ We cried tears of joy, and every day that followed was better for her absence.” 

Then, he dumped and flushed a huge ladle of her ashes.

My younger brother went next.

Younger Brother: “My earliest memory of my mother is of her screaming like a madwoman and trashing the house while I hid under the stairs in my sister’s arms. That was her gift to me, my guardian angel, my sweet sister who always protected me from the monster who raised us.”

I cried so hard.

Those were some of the nicest words said that day as more than 200 people gathered to flush my vile mother down the toilet. She would have loved it. Some people want to watch the world burn, but others are only happy when they’re holding the matches.

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CONTENT WARNING: Death

I ran a large antique store in the mall back in the ’90s and every week this older couple would come in. The Mrs. collected colored glass and patterned glass, and the old man liked his tools.

She was sweet, and he was the crankiest old curmudgeon ever, always condescending toward her over her $20 – $30 dollar purchase of ‘worthless crap’ while he could easily spend $100 or two on tools. He was a complete a**, each and every time they came in together.

This went on for a couple of years, and then one week they stopped coming in.

A couple of months later, he came in alone and I could sense something wasn’t right with him.

His wife had passed.

He spent a few hours in the store (it was large), looking at, picking up, and inspecting – not tools, but colored glass.

He walked out of there with over $100 worth that day and came back every week for a couple of years to buy more until we lost the lease on the place.

It must have somehow given him comfort, and he was no longer the a** that he started out as.