A number of years ago, my father-in-law passed away, and was buried in the cemetery I re-visited last week.
This cemetery is located on a steep hillside. From the top, you can see miles of Midwestern farmland, housing developments and industrial parks.
On that day, the motorcycle cop who accompanied the funeral procession to the graveyard somehow managed to run his bike over the edge, tumbling down a 65 degree incline. We thought he'd killed himself, but he was okay.
My ex's cousin, a pastor back in the day, and very religious, reminded me of this event while we were standing around on Thursday, waiting for the second set of keys to arrive.
"I still can't figure out how he did that," I said, staring down the hill.
"Because he was a dumbass," said Ray.
I laughed so hard I snorted, mostly because it reminded me of my ex (who has since passed away, too). His sardonic take on mankind was always hilarious.
Funerals truly are a time for reconnecting with dead loved ones.