I think one of the most dangerous vehicular situations you can find yourself driving in is a funeral procession.
They’re kind of like being part of a freight train, only without guard rails, dinging lights, and the threat of about a million tons of rolling iron to keep other drivers at bay.
They’re long and slow and hold up traffic and other drivers’ respect diminishes with each passing car. By the time the last car makes the intersection, the driver is no longer a bereft family member but a target. Of course, everyone honors the hearse, the only car carrying the one person in the whole procession that can’t get hurt. But that last car is open game.
My family recently suffered the loss of my aunt Rachel, and I got caboose duty in a long funeral procession that took the scenic route through near-Northwest suburbs of Chicago as it went from the funeral home to the church to the cemetery. By the way, there is no scenic route through Norridge, but there are a lot of streets with potholes, evidence that the road most traveled is not always the safest.
This is something my aunt Rachel understood very well because she was mentally challenged and led a life off the beaten path. And like traveling a scenic route, Rachel’s life was full of open beauty, which she never failed to see. She was happy. And smart, despite her handicaps. Her ability to be cunning and quick witted was practically unparalleled in my family. She turned her stumbling blocks into stepping stones, and she traversed her rough roads with grace.
So if you were traveling somewhere in Norridge a couple weeks ago and you encountered a lengthy funeral procession, this was the woman in the lead, which is the only place for her.
I never sign off Happy Trails, but I’d like to this edition with my name spelled how she pronounced it.
By Chrisafur La Pelusa
Nephew
