#you asked

Bless.

So, one of these trips to Louisiana had to be made in August. Which, if you've never been to Louisiana in August, don't go. Just don't. Wait until a saner time when you don't have to swim through the air and where you don't sweat through your clothes three times throughout the course of the day. It's...not a great time, August in Louisiana.

But that's when I had to go, so that's when I went. And I did all my usual meetings etc, and of course, scheduled a trip out to say hi to Mark. When I'd called the week before, Mark told me he had been meaning to get some time with me because he had a few other FH's in the area he wanted to hook me up with and tell me about this little club of body donation-friendly parlors that could increase my ability to transport donors...whatever. It was a good thing and we needed to talk about it.

So I show up to Mark's funeral home and as I am pulling in, I see him locking up his office and heading for his truck in a suit. When he saw me, he got instantly apologetic, told me he had to go perform a military funeral 'upstate a piece' and had totally forgotten to call and cancel or reschedule our meeting. "No problem," said I. "I've got the rest of the day free, I can just swing by later once you're back if you want."

"Oh, I'm not gonna make you come all the way back out here, sugar. Just hop in, we can chat on the way. I'll take you by Carl's after the service--he's one I wanted to talk to you about."

You might be thinking, "You're not actually dumb enough to get into the truck of a relative stranger, are you? In a state where no one knows you? On a business trip where your husband won't even realize something has happened to you until you fail to come home on Thursday night?"

Look. Here's the thing: I have this theory that I'm kind of unkillable. It's led me to make some pretty stupid decisions but, ya know, it's all worked out, right? Plus, Mark was about 5'2" and about 350lbs. If nothing else, I had it on pretty good authority that if it came down to a fight for my life, I would be able to overpower him.

So yes. I hopped in. We chatted business while he drove us waaaaaay out of town where things started getting quite swampy and more than a little Deliverance-y. "This is a military funeral?" I asked while keeping an eye out for gators lurking in the algea-covered swamps we were winding through.

"Mmhmm," Mark said. "Oh, before we get there, I oughtta warn you that we're headin' pretty far out here. I know you're not from 'round here so you might not be familiar with the kinda folk we'll be seeing today. They're..." Mark paused thoughtfully. "Well. I s'pose the most polite way I could describe 'em is Swamp People?"

I blinked. "That's...the most polite way?"

"Mmhmm. You'll know 'em when we get there. Dug-in types. Off the grid? Not a lotta shoes. Or social security numbers? Do you get what I'm saying?"

I did. We drove on.

Eventually we reached our destination and I was tasked with linking up with the members of the Army that were there to do the 3-shot volley and present the flag. Just chatted for a minute to make sure everything was set to go. While we were talking, I noticed a boy who looked to be maybe 10 years old rushing around the front yard of this enormous house that had not been remotely maintained. He was setting up lawn chairs for the attendees, because this kid was going to be buried on the family land, in the plot behind the house, so the funeral was just going to happen on the front lawn.

This kid is straight out of a movie. No shoes, as predicted by Mark earlier. Denim overalls with only one strap buckled. No shirt. A haircut that was definitely the result of a bowl slipping while someone tried to use the clippers. He was taking his job very seriously, making sure all the chairs were lined up perfectly and that everything looked as nice as it could. He seemed very sweet.

He was also the one who led his family out to sit in the front row once the rest of the chairs were filled in with family, friends, neighbors, etc. "Daddy, you sit there on the end," I heard him say, directing his father. "And Mama, you go beside him. Meemaw," he said, taking the arm of a woman who looked to be 400 years old. "Meemaw, you're gonna sit between me and Mama, alright?"

Meemaw sat, along with Mama, Daddy, and this little boy, and the funeral began.

It was fine. Pretty standard fare. But holy fucking Christ was it hot. I had completely sweat through my clothes, my makeup had melted hours ago. The preacher kept stopping to take deep breaths and wipe his face with his handkerchief. The seven men in uniform looked like they were ready to pass out. Just. It was hell. I was at a funeral in hell.

But as all things do, this too came to an end. Somebody played "Taps" and the men in uniform took their stance with their rifles pointed upward.

First shot rings out.

BANG

Meemaw pitches out of her lawnchair and faceplants into the dirt.

Nobody moves.

For ten of the longest seconds of my life, everyone stared at this ancient woman facedown on her lawn and collectively forgot what to do in a Situation™.

Everyone except one.

My overall'd little buddy jumped out of his chair and pointed at the soliders with all the gusto and accusation of a hero in a melodrama, "Sommabitch!" he exclaimed. "Ya'll done shot Meemaw!"

In so doing, he broke the spell of shock that had settled over all of us, allowing his father to jump into action and get Meemaw out of the dirt. She was fine. She'd simple fallen asleep in the heat, and the shock of hearing the first gunshot startled her out of her slumber and out of her chair at the most inopportune time.

Once all the excitement died down, the volley continued, the flag was folded, and the family moved onto the burial in the back yard.

Mark and I managed to get into the truck and off the property before we started laughing.

This remains my favorite funeral, work meeting, and business trip I've ever experienced.