Why I Sent My Husband and Son to a Football Game After My Mama's Funeral

My mama's funeral was traumatic in more ways than is typical. First, I had a breakdown before the service. Unfortunately, I'm one of those people who shove everything down deep and ignore it until it explodes. So, while I was able to help with all the preparations, go to the funeral home, pay bills etc., the actual moments before the funeral was too much. I ended up hyperventilating on one of the hottest days in August I can remember and collapsed outside the church.

Thankfully, my husband pulled me back together, and I was able to make it inside the wonderfully air-conditioned chapel to sit and stare blankly at my mama's casket while the funeral proceeded. It was all going well until the second preacher came up and started preaching. Yes, I do mean preaching, all hell and brimstone. I about lost my mind at that moment. My young children were scared by what this horrible man who was supposed to be a family friend said. With each word out of his foul mouth, my anger rose.

I clenched my teeth when he said, 'All children are born of the devil and deserve to burn in hell.' When my eight-year-old son whispered to me, 'Mummy, is that true?' all I could manage was a whispered, 'No, baby. That man is an idiot.' By this time, close family members were watching me warily. They remembered me as a volatile youth. I would have stood up and told that man precisely what I thought of him in my teenage years. However, with age and wisdom comes restraint. However, when he called out for sinners to come up and kneel at the altar to save their eternal souls from damnation, that final thread of nerve snapped.

How dare he stand there and call people up to the altar with my mother's body resting there? This supposedly was a eulogy for her, to say goodby and remember her life, not a sermon on damnation. I kissed my kids and stood up, and walked out, letting the church doors slam behind me. The funeral home staff were waiting outside. Our families had known each other for years, so when I began dropping F-bombs left, right and centre calling that man every low life SOB in the book, they didn't flinch.

They were more surprised I held it in as long as I had. They sat with me and consoled me. Then, when it was time to go to the grave-side, I wouldn't walk with them to carry mama's casket. Instead, I ignored the preacher and others who were giving me those wary looks, as if I was a rabid animal about to attack. What I did do, was walk over to Aunt Ruth, the eldest family member still alive. She was my great-great-aunt, but that fact had never meant anything.

Respect where respect is due

When I went to Aunt Ruth, there was no anger or spite. She was a grand lady and deserved nothing but the utmost respect. I knew that it would be hard for her to walk up the hill to the gravesite, so I went and collected her, to the shock of everyone.

‘Aunt Ruth let's get you in the car, and I will drive you up to the gravesite. It's too hot for you to try to walk up there.’

With the grace of a Queen, she took my hand, and I led her to my car. By the time we made it, everyone else was there waiting. They left a seat in front of the casket, and I carefully helped her to it and sat her down. I stood there by her side while that man said a few more words about mama and then closed my eyes for the prayers before they lowered her into the ground. I did take a carnation from her casket to keep—one last memento of my mama before our final goodbye.

It was soon apparent that that man had zero common sense or ability to read a room, as he came up to me and tried to shake my hand. I can still remember the big smile on his face when he tried to take my hand and say, 'Brandy, it's so good to see you; I'm so glad you could make it.' I looked him straight in the eye and, with so much coldness the hot mugginess of the day dropped at least ten degrees, told him, 'I have nothing to say to you.' I then turned to Aunt Ruth and began to fuss over her, helping her up and bundling her to the car and air conditioning. I left him standing there with an expression of shock on his face. I honestly believe he had no idea what he had done or why I was incandescent with rage. At that stage, I could care less; I was done with him.

For me, he had single-handedly ruined what should have been a celebration of life. I refused to make a scene, but it was a hard-won battle to take that higher ground. However, this is not the main plot of this story. Instead, it's football and how sending my husband and son to a game after the funeral made all the hell I had just gone through better.

Once we were all in the car and headed back to the house to freshen up, we began to chat. The conversation came to football. The Panthers and The Steelers were playing a friendly game that evening. The conversation continued once we were back at my cousin's house. (It was where we were staying.) Everyone was tired and stressed, including the kids.

Why don't you guys go? Don you can take Sam and Tommy can take Elias. It can be a boys day out. They don't need to go to the dinner tonight anyway. Let them have some fun.

They probably thought I had finally cracked. But I was serious. My brother Tommy said, 'Are you sure?' Yeah, I was. All of us was stressed out, it would get the kids out of the way, and the women could chill for a few hours before heading over to my Aunts while they took the kids and left us to it. Once my husband and brother realised I was serious, they were buying tickets and out the door. The women left behind were laughing at their hasty retreat, smiling and shaking our heads. That simple normal boy response took the weight of the world off our shoulders. After that, I think we all felt better about it.

The family gathering

A couple of hours later, we went to my aunt's house. The whole family was there, everyone shared hugs, food and memories. one of the clearest memories I have, is sitting on the porch with my uncle and another brother. Remember, mama was my grandmother, but she had raised me from birth. My uncle here was her son and my brother her grandson.

Where is Don and Sam?

I told my uncle and brother where they had gone, and the jealousy was real. My uncle said he wished he had known that he would have gone with them. He saw the game was on and was desperate to go but thought he would get his butt kicked for even thinking about it. My brother agreed. They regaled people with how lucky my husband was and how it wasn't fair the rest of the night.

I may have won best wife of the year for that stunt. It was funny and broke the heavy tension that was hanging over everyone's head. The meltdown earlier was never mentioned, and we had a wonderful evening telling stories, eating more than anyone ever should, and watching the children run around the yard shouting and screaming.

When we finally returned to my cousins, we didn't even stay up to wait on our husbands and sons. We all went to bed, knowing they would get home eventually. The day that had begun as a nightmare ended up relaxed and stress-free. However, the Steelers won, and my eight-year-old son was livid. Even though his paw-paw is a huge Steelers fan, they dared to beat the Panthers at home, which began his resentment and dislike of the team forever. My son could never forgive the Steelers.