After I looked up from the brochure, I saw my mom clippity clopping in her heals towards the entrance to the chapel. Everything happened so fast. She was yards in front of me, “what the fuck?” I raced to keep up with her. We entered a packed church. The priest was standing in the front, talking, in front of the coffin which rested in the middle of the pews. The coffin was draped in a huge doily. The priest was dressed in a formal gown. I looked to the left and noticed a few empty seats at the back pew and was horrified to see my mom was still stomping down the center aisle toward the coffin, “are you kidding me? Where are you going?” I tried to look invisible as I followed. I think all eyes were on us, the late ladies who nobody knows, walking towards the front of the church…in jeans! They probably thought I had no respect for the dead. Each step felt like a lifetime. I couldn’t believe she was still going, “no way, no way, where the fuck is she going? Are we going to sit with her grieving children? Stop, I beg you, Stop!” At last she took a seat in the empty pew behind the family. I think there is usually a respectful buffer of at least one pew between the immediate family and the other friends and relatives who sit behind. Well, not today. Today that buffer was filled by my mom and me…and my outfit.

She sat in the second seat, so I was in the aisle where my jeans could be viewed by everyone on the other side of the church. I pressed my knees as far to the right as I could. I was practically in my mom’s lap. I tried to calm my nerves, listen to what was happening and be respectful to what was going on there. I had a long discussion with myself, “this has nothing to do with you. These poor children within arms reach of you have lost their mother. That man is grieving for his wife. No one cares that you are in jeans. You are so selfish! There is no point in thinking about this anymore. Pray for the young woman and her family and move on. This will all be over before you know it.” For the next hour similar conversations would arise in my mind, like each time we had to stand and pray, or whenever I caught the eyes of the priest in my gaze. I am sure he was shocked by my low cut blouse.

I cried throughout the whole thing because the little boy sitting in his father’s lap reminded me of my son, Jack. He and his daddy wore sunglasses. He kept crying out loud for his mommy. I could feel his breath, he was that close. The whole experience was so traumatic. I was physically and mentally exhausted at the end of it all. Finally it came to an end and I was half expecting my mother to jump over my legs and grab a handle with the other pall bearers. Thank god, she didn’t. But, I made it very clear when we got to the top of the church that we were standing to the side and I wasn’t about to meet anyone there. I shouted at her in my mind. I think she heard. I walked silently out to the car without looking at her.

“That was fun. Thanks for the invite,” I told her. We both climbed into the car. She smiled and told me that once we got back to the office, “You should run out and get our lunch because I have an inspection at one. “Oh, okay,” I said, confused. I guess we didn’t have the same experience. Life, at least ours, is going to go on as usual. In some ways, you could say I am an assistant to the stars, if stars are spirits and creepy experiences…which they aren’t. So, I’m not.