My great-aunt, my grandfather’s sister, is a selfish brat, and also one of those Catholics whose theological knowledge begins with the Rosary and ended about 15 years before Vatican II.
Bless her heart.
She scolded my grandmother for having my grandfather cremated, because OF COURSE now he won’t go to Heaven.
My grandmother told my Auntie Chata to fuck off. Well, I summarized.
But then, when my sainted grandmother called my grandfather’s former employer to get some forms for a life insurance policy, the COMPLETE STRANGER on the other end of the phone in this public corporation scolded my grandmother for having my grandfather cremated.
My mother and uncle are going to lodge a formal complaint on Tuesday.
Since they’re interring my grandfather’s ashes on Monday.
Thank God for good pastors. Thank God my parents have one. Pastor D met with my parents and my grandmother earlier this week, and after being confounded and dumbfounded by these stories, he offered words of comfort and reassurance.
I pray to the good Lord for strength, because when they do schedule that funeral service, if my Auntie Chata is there, I will need much strength to keep from making her nose even flatter, yo.
(So, is this the part of the grieving process called ‘anger’?)