(My earliest memory of our family coming together was as a young child. My family travelled home, to Louisiana. I remembered seeing somebody placed on a board in the house and all the mirrors were covered and the walls were draped. I can remember being scared to death, but I would peek and look at the still body lying on this board. I heard my grandmother say that the body was placed on a cooling board. Why, the body had to cool is still a mystery to me. The cooling board was the same board they used for ironing.)

As long as I can remember, it seems that the largest family gatherings were always funerals,(or homegoings as my older relatives called them). Depending on the loved one who had "gone home" would determine the type of celebration we would have before and after the funeral. I know there was a lot of food and drink with tears and laughter. These gatherings brought some of the most exciting times and most memorable events.

On one such occasion, a call came, and it was time again for us to gather. It was late spring, with my immediate family we travelled to Louisiana. With heavy hearts we made the trip, yet I was so excited, I knew this would be a good time. A chance that I would get to visit with family that I hadn't seen in years and different family members would comment on how all of us had grown, and who we most looked like.

We would arrive and like clock work everyone knew what they had to do. The women and older girls would start preparing food and the men would sit around, run errands and sometimes would even slaughter a hog or go fishing. All us kids played outdoors and had a great time. There were lots of cousins to play with.

The time of year would determine what foods were prepared. My family in Louisiana lived in the country and raised plenty of hogs and chickens. There was always plenty food and drink. Some liked the drinking more than eating, and as the day wore on, we knew who was doing more of what.

We had come together as a family to bury our beloved, yet, it was more like a reunion. As our parents all took care of the business at hand, all of us kids were left to explore and renew our kinships. Well, in the country you can always find something to do. I was about eleven years old and I learned to drive. There was an old school bus behind the barn and we all took turns learning to drive this monster. There was a large field in the back of the barn. My uncle just let us have our way. My cousin Gerorgette was the instuctor, she was nine years old. I could drive anything from that day on. We sneaked and drove out on Highway 80. At that time it was the main highway betweem Mississippi and Louisiana. With this old bus filled with children, we must have been a site.

Keeping with tradition, the night before the funeral we would have a "Wake" where we all would gather at mortuary with the body and we would take turns speaking about our beloved who had "gone on home". (Years earlier the body would have been at home and we would have had the wake at home rather than a mortuary.) Everyone spoke in whispers. There were sometimes quiet moans with tears and praises. A lot of "hallelujahs" and "thank you Jesus".

After the Wake we would all get together and have supper, and the drinking would continue. My Aunt Sista always drank her share along with everyone elses. Aunt Sista was not the only one. There were many more. The children were all put to bed as our parents readied for the following day.

I can remember the funeral as though it were yesterday, however I don't recall who we were burying. The church was hot and crowded. The minister spoke and the choir sang. Family and friends of the departed stood before the congregation and spoke. There was crying and shouting. They had real church this day. After the services there was the burial to attend.

Well, Aunt Sista stood behind me at the grave site. Auntie was snotting and crying. She kept calling out saying that she too wanted to "go on home". Each time she was overcome she flung herself forward, pushing me to the edge of the grave. The minister spoke and said the last prayers and the casket was lowered. As the casket was decending Auntie pushed me once again. (It seem to me to be the hottest day of the year. Now, I was getting tired of her shouting and crying and pushing, I was already at the edge of the grave site.) My poor Auntie had had too many drinks and all I could smell was "Evening In Paris" and whiskey mixed with sweat permeating from her 250 pound body.

With her arms flailing over her head and still about to push me into the grave, I suddenly moved to one side. Into the grave on top of the casket she fell. There was a hush around the site for what seemed like forever and then slowly I heard snickling as my father, uncles, and cousins rushed forward to get this drunk, 250 pound woman out of the grave.

It took about six grown men to lift her out of the grave. With torn stockings, she was covered with dirt and sobbing . Her hat was cocked and twisted, she was a real mess. Everyone could hear her huffing and puffing. When she caught her breath, she was cussing and trying to wipe the dirt from her legs and clothes.

My mother locked on to me and we started to walk away from the burial site. My mother gave me the "eye", the eye that tells you that you are in trou--ble. About this same time I hear my granny--and I was rescued from my mother.

There were about 150 people at this burial ceremony and word of exactly what had happened was spreading and so was the laughter. When we arrived at the "Repast", there was laughter all around. I am teased till this day about that incident. My Aunt Sista forgave me, she really didn't know what had happened until she sobered up a little.

A few years ago the call went out, this time it was my mother who had died. We were all devastated. Aunt Sista came, she is still a large woman and she still drinks on these occasions. I remember we were about to leave the church. The Funeral prosession was lining up. My grandmother, two sisters and my Auntie Vy we were all in one of the limos. We were about to pull off and we see this hugh woman looking a bit lost as the cars were starting to leave. We all spotted her at the same time. We halted the driver and I got out of the car and went over and took her by the hand. We got into the car. We sat her up front and looking into each others eyes we all laughed until tears rolled down our faces.

Aunt Sista had again over indulged herself. When we reached the cemetary I took her by the hand and led her to a chair. As she sat down she squeezed my hand and pulled me to her and hugged me. We cried and laughed so loud until heads turned our way. It had been about 40 years since she had fallen in the grave. Aunt Sista said, "I think I can wait baby. I don't want go home...just yet".

by Betty J. Green