Some Kinda Mormon

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And all the while, I silently prayed that my grandmother, facing her nemesis, would shut up about who was right and who was wrong and let the poor woman die in peace. And I wonder now to what God I was praying.

When my grandmother came out of Aunt Ruth's room she was crying. Someone offered her some homemade fudge. But she just grabbed her purse and said, 'I guess we should be going.' And we left.

Aunt Ruth died a week later. My grandmother was inconsolable--a complete surprise. 'There's no relief,' she said over the phone. 'We can't say, 'She's with the Lord now.' I can't help but think of her burning in hell, and there's nothing we can do about it now.'

How could I console her? 'We don't know that,' I said. 'More likely she's with Wendell and Richard and Grandpa. It's one big family reunion up there for the Mormons.' I shouldn't have included my grandfather in the mix, but she let it slide.

'I hope you're right,' she said, with a laugh.

'At least if the Mormons are right, we'll all be safe,' I said.

We were joking again, irreverent at the most inappropriate times--the only way we knew how to make sense of things.

'It wouldn't hurt to invest in a pair of that holy underwear,' I added. 'Just in case.'

Excerpted from Maisonneuve (Spring 2007), a Montreal-based magazine of eclectic curiosity. Subscriptions: $36/yr. (4 issues) from Box 3468, Champlain, NY 12919; www.maisonneuve.org.

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