Grandma's Memorial

On Friday night, Guillaume and I left work and headed to Canfield, Ohio. Unfortunately, there's no real easy way to get there. We took a plane from Newark, NJ to Pittsburgh. From there, we rented a car and drove to a motel in Austintown.

The flight was almost as long as driving. We ended up having a delay before boarding the plane. Then we sat on the runway for an hour. When we got to Pittsburgh, there was no gate for us. So, we waited there, too. Finally we got our luggage and rented the car and were on our way! After a stop at McDonald's for some (pretty good!) coffee, we rolled into Austintown around 1 am. I was exhausted even with the large cup of coffee in my system.

We couldn't see much of Austintown at night, but we were able to see that our motel was conveniently located between two go-go bars. There was also a Starbucks. Guillaume and I ate our breakfast there at a table with an umbrella over it next to the highway. The weather was so gorgeous that I forgot about the whoosh of the highway and enjoyed the sun.

The Memorial went very well. Mom and Aunt Carole did a nice job of planning it. I didn't know what to expect or how I would feel when I got to the cemetery. Work was so busy the last couple of weeks, so I didn't have time to think about it too much. Clutching my notebook, I walked toward the gravesite feeling a little queasy.

When the funeral director brought out my grandma's ashes, it felt like someone kicked me in the stomach. I had the same feeling when I saw my other grandmother in her casket. There's something powerful about that moment. It knocks the wind out of you and leaves you feeling vulnerable. That's when the tears started. I don't know what I was surprised that I was crying.

Grandma passed away several months ago. I had already gone through the various stages of grief, but I never felt the closure that a funeral brings. I realized that I was going to have to go through this crucial step. Not sure why I didn't see it coming. I guess I let the daily stress of work block it out.

I focused on the sticker that was bearing my grandmother's name, which was typewritten onto a label on the box of ashes. It felt surreal and also painfully final.

After Aunt Carole's reading, I managed to stop crying enough to try and read the notes that I had prepared. I was overcome with emotion. The pastor/reverend stood next to me and I felt slightly better.

I didn't end up reading my notes, but instead I clutched them to my heart and tried to summarize them. I kept thinking how lucky I was to know my grandmother and how special she was. Whenever I called her with a problem, she always told me that it would all work out. It seems so trite, but it would always take the pressure off. I can still hear her voice saying that when I am very upset. That's something that will stay with me always.

I cried through my words, but it felt good to get them out. I looked out at my family and saw them tearing up, too. I felt ridiculous standing up there crying in front of everyone, but I couldn't help it.

Still sobbing, I went back to my place with my family. That's when other people began to speak up about my grandmother. Listening to them share their stories and memories soothed me. I didn't want to end. It almost felt like their words would some how bring her back to life or that she would suddenly come walking over laughing at how she fooled us. Of course that didn't happen. Instead, dirt was spread over her grave as we watched.

After chatting with my grandmother's friends, we left the cemetery and went to the luncheon. The food was good and we shared more memories of my grandmother. My sister put together a beautiful collage of my grandmother that was displayed there. She did an excellent job. It's pictured above.

The rest of the day was spent traveling down memory lane. We stopped by at the now mostly empty house where my grandma lived for about 30-something years. The outside looked the same, but the inside was not the place I remembered. It was stripped down to a few chairs, curtains and wallpaper. It felt like someone else's house.

But that didn't stop the memories from flooding back. A trip to SeaWorld to see Shamu. My grandfather in his recliner with the television cranked up at full volume. Games and toys lined up by the fireplace for me when I arrived from the long drive from NJ. Sitting under the kitchen table on the gold shag rug listening to the grown ups talk about golfing and medications. Getting my head stuck in the railing of the upstairs banister while playing jail by myself (before Amy was born). The note from my grandpa that we found after he died that said that Ed would buy the boat.

All my life, that house had been the same. Now, it was dismantled and my grandmother and her bubbly laugh were gone, too. It was one of the many weird moments of life when you are forced to face the fact that things change and that life's too short and that you should treasure every moment of it.

It's hard to face all of those things, but I think it's necessary. With all the stresses we have, it's easy to forget the things that really matter and take things too seriously. Deep down I know it will eventually all work out.