Waiter, There’s a Stranger in My Plot

“Remember how we set Grandma‘s funeral arrangements up in advance?” My mother was chatting with me on the phone this afternoon. This was not a typical conversation lead for her but it did not catch me particularly off guard. When it comes to my grandmother nothing catches me off guard. This is a woman who knows everyone at Wal-Mart and who spends equal parts of her time writing letters, having coffee at Hardee’s with her friends, and playing nickel slots at the local Indian casino. So conversations involving Grandma are not startling, regardless of how they start.

Well, that’s not entirely true; what followed my Mom’s opening was far from typical, even when it involves my Grandma. “Well, the guy came over today to talk about the headstone and having it match Grandpa’s. He stopped to look at Grandpa’s headstone and he discovered there was someone else buried in Grandma’s plot.”

Now. I have to say, this took me off guard. But what followed was even stranger . . .

. . . “I think they’re going to work out a reimbursement.”

Pardon me, but you’ve buried someone else’s wife in my Grandmother’s grave and you’re going to try to work out a reimbursement? How about you move the stranger out of the reserved burial plot?

Now, I’ve had some hard and unusual things happening to me this past month, but no matter how bizarre and queer my life has gotten, at least I don’t have a strange woman reposing and decomposing in my grave.