A month or so ago, my uncle passed away. I wanted to get a sitter for Graham and NOT take him to the funeral. My mom, Dixie (aka Nan), insisted that I bring him so her side of the family could “see him.” When they gathered the family in the funeral parlor to say final goodbyes, Graham took one look at the casket and started shouting, “He’s dead! He’s Dead!” Apparently, big brother had filled him in on the situation. SK covered his mouth and removed him from the room.

He was allowed into the chapel for the funeral. I sang, and as I ended the last note of How Great Thou Art, he announced to the room that he needed to go to the bathroom. It was actually more like this…

“I really have to POO POO… I REALLY have to POO POO… I REALLY HAVE TO POO POO!”

SK covered his mouth and removed him from the room. As he was removing him from the room, he accidentally stepped on G’s foot and the wailing commenced.

He was allowed to attend the graveside portion of the service. He didn’t shout or cry once. We were so proud of him for somewhat redeeming himself. And then he knocked a tombstone over. Really. He. Knocked. A. Tombstone. Over.

Dixie’s family got to see him alright.

Photo via New Orleans artist Amanda Stone Talley