I love my sisters. Even the one that my bro-in-law said I "threw under a bus" in my History 1 post. (I could have been much, much meaner, but I am scared of her, too. It's a sickness...)
ANYHOO, my sister BoBamy (amelia bedelia in my list over there -->) and I are closet in age and were inseparable until I moved away to be a submissive preacher's wife (hehehheh) 14 yrs ago. No one in this world laughs harder at me, or makes me laugh more than she does. (BoBerin, sis#4, is VERY funny, too, but until she joins into the Fold of Believer Bloggers, she is just a name to you.)
BoBamy has always been the sweet, gentle, caring sister that never made any enemies. She also lived in LaLa Land. I am cracking up as I write this just THINKING about all the times she made me laugh without meaning to.
We didn't really watch a lot of TV when were growing up, so we,"the girls", entertained our parents with skits and dances. I was always the producer, director, AND star, and BoBamy was always the dancer, even if the part wasn't written in. She would just bust out into dance whenever there was a pause or someone forgot their line. It always made my parents scream hysterically with laughter.
We were always getting into trouble for inappropriate laughter at church, in the car on long trips, at my grandmother's during dinner, and at funerals. We never had to say anything or maybe nothing funny had even happened. It was just a look we had between us.
At my great grandmother's funeral, we were 9 and 6 and walking up to the church for the service. BoBamy begins to skip. I am talking BIG skipping, with arms flailing and long red dogears swinging. I think she may have been humming also, but I am not sure. My dad who was serious at the time (it was his Mamma Zil's funeral), reaches out with one fail swoop and thumps the crap out of BoBamy right on her noggin. THUNK!
She spins around, with her long red dogears just a blur, and says in all innocence, "What'd you do that for, daddy?"
We enter as the family and go down the aisle to sit at the front.The throb of daddy's thump had apparently worn off, because with the organ music droning it's woeful sound, BoBamy begins to skip. Again. (I think in her head she was hearing "I got rhythm...")
We filed into the pews which had no said arm rests on the ends, the sides being as tall as the back. BoBamy was behind me and as the family was seated, she was left without a place to sit. I squished as tightly as I could to my mom, and BoBamy squeezed her tiny little 6 yr old hiney in beside me.
I am not clear on how long it was before I looked at BoBamy, but I would guess a good 10 minutes had passed. I glanced over and there she sat on my right, pinned tightly against that high armrest, with her tiny little right elbow straight up in the air smashed against the side of her face, her hand dangling right next to her mouth. No grimmace, she just sitting listening intently at the service.
I remember the jerk I physically made, the muffled roar I tried to pull off, and the pain of my daddy's massive grip on the back of my neck, that just seconds earlier was lovingly placed on my mom's shoulder.
I slowly turned my head towards my dad whose jaw was officially torked, and mouthed "Amy", like any good big sister would. His grip loosened just enough for him to lean forward and see her still in the same exact contortioned position, still listening intently to the minister.
He closed his eyes and put his lips together, then took his hand off my neck, only after he gave me a loving pat. My mom glanced quickly, and she, too, closed her eyes and made her lips disappear into her closed mouth. They both faced straight ahead with neither eyes or lips appearing.
Thinking that that was the assumed funeral position, I did the same. And BoBamy sat as she had since the beginning of the funeral.
The story doesn't end there.....
We still had the burial. And a long limo ride. And more skipping.
It's still not the end of the story....
As you have read, my daddy passed away this past Jan.
As we walked into the church, our heads down and mustering the last bit of strength we had in us to even make it up to the door, I heard a familiar sound.
I turned to look for her, but she was beside me.
We both turned together to see Cole, BoBamy's 8 yr old, with his arms flailing in the air and big steps, .....................skipping.
We looked at each other and giggled.
I never missed that neck squeeze more.