MOMS, DOGS, & FUNERALS

SO my mom may or may not have shown up as a dog to her funeral. And she may or may not have been a shaman and a witch while she was making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for me for school all those years. But, I know if she was a witch she was for the most part happy and filled with a good white light. My mom ran around the church in Carchiveen, Kerry that morning and pissed at the head of her earth body's casket three times and muddied up the altar girl's robes good and nipped at the geriatric priest's fingertips. No one could catch her, and everybody laughed like they weren't in church but like they were in the pub. Gawd, I love my mom and her laughter and her pranks and jokes and the craic she could bring with a vengence. It was an art this craic, fluent and bold and filled with sandwiches and cigarette smoke. My mom's mate from back in the day was finally able to get her attention through the chaos and hilarious din in the 18th century church that day. She called "NOREEN" like an incantation, and my mom, the dog, was led through those enormous double doors into the vestibule, out into the day, and on to Heaven.

Amen.