Chris Broussard was a goofball.
With his bright, memorable smile, he wouldn’t have fit in at his funeral Monday at Most Blessed Sacrament Catholic Church. The crowd of more than 200 or so sobbed, whimpered and embraced one another throughout the Mass as they remembered their son, brother, cousin, friend and fellow LSU Tiger.
“Sometimes, it felt like he didn’t have a serious bone in his body,” his friend Brett Conrad said. “That’s what made him special.”
On his way home from Bogie’s Bar early last week, Broussard wrecked his truck and was killed. His parents filed a missing persons report last Tuesday afternoon. Broussard’s truck and body were found off Highway 30 in Bayou Manchac near St. Gabriel later that night. It hasn’t been determined yet if alcohol was a factor in the death.
“It really could’ve been any of us,” said his cousin Jessica Drago, 22.
Broussard had texted his mom, Lisa, minutes before he left Bogie’s. He told her he was on his way home.
“I will leave the light on for you,” she responded.
God left the light on for him too, said the Rev. Michael Collins during the Mass.
Collins said he understands that people question why God didn’t turn Broussard’s wheel or step on his brake before the wreck. The priest acknowledged asking those questions himself. But he said the answer will come when Broussard’s loved ones reach heaven and God shows them the bigger picture.
“If they’ve touched you, if they’re inside of you, then they’re still yours,” Collins said during the homily. “The only thing you have are the ones you hold in your heart.”
Broussard’s casket, covered in a cream-colored cloth woven with gold and silver squares, sat at the front of the church. Many of those gathered — ranging from children to college students to older friends and family — grasped the casket as they received Holy Communion. The Paschal Candle blazed next to it.
Broussard was a sociology senior and a die-hard Tiger fan.
The rarely-seen more serious side of him was revealed as part of his career aspirations. Broussard hoped to join the CIA or FBI and do investigative work. His aunt, Cindy Drago, said his longtime love of “Scooby-Doo” and the gang’s mystery solving may have inspired that.
His childhood room was “Scooby-Doo” themed. Drago would buy him something to add to his collection for each holiday and birthday. The two of them would imitate the characters together, trying to get their voices just right.
Many friends joked about Broussard’s scrawniness, but Drago said he gave the best hugs. He’d charm her all the time, telling her how lovely she was.
“I’d say, ‘Christopher, you keep talking like that, you’re gonna have a hundred girlfriends,’” she laughed.
Light streamed into the stained glass rectangular windows of the church as four of Broussard’s pallbearers spoke to the congregation before the burial Mass began. They remembered him as a shy person with a great sense of humor.
Broussard could spot a photo being taken from hundreds of feet away, said his friend Brennan Stutes. He would always make it just in time to jump into it, ready to claim his title as “master of the photobomb.”
Many of Broussard’s Theta Chi fraternity brothers wore red to represent their brotherhood, and some even wore red carnations, the fraternity’s official flower.
Broussard had been planning to go to Arlington, Texas with his fraternity brothers to watch the LSU- TCU football game this past weekend. His friends said he loved LSU sports and always rooted for the Tigers. Even at his funeral, there was a nod to his loyalty.
The spray of flowers on his casket was purple and yellow.
Conrad summed up their relationship simply with his final words to his friend.
“I love you, buddy,” he said.

 
“Sometimes, it felt like he didn’t have a serious bone in his body. That’s what made him special.”