I got up early again. I would
prepare for another day, another viewing, lots more emotions. At the end of
tonight’s viewing, I would eulogize Gram. I needed to prepare. I’ve always
loved talking about Gram – I wanted the whole world to know about her and what
she meant to me. That part would be easy; containing my emotions would not.
I drove through the cemetery where
Gram would be buried. Pap had purchased four plots back in the 1950’s. They
were in the Garden Of The Water Of Life section, which didn’t mean much to me
except that they were easy to find. But there was no garden and no fountain. Pap
was already buried there and Gram’s sister, Stella, too. Gram would lie next to
Pap and the fourth plot would remain empty and be transferred to Mom with what
remained of Gram’s estate.
I pulled over and stopped the truck
as I approached the gravesite. Gram’s bronze marker was standing up, leaning on
the vase that would normally slide inside the center hole when the marker was
placed in the ground at the base of her grave. It was removed while they dug
and left out waiting for the date-of-death scroll to be installed. It was a
beautiful but simple marker that she had purchased back in 2009 when she
insisted that I take her to pre-plan and pre-pay her funeral and burial.
The neatly rectangular grave hole
was dug and probably had the vault already placed inside. I couldn’t be sure. I
was sitting in my truck, unable to get out and look. I didn’t want to see it. I
still couldn’t process that Gram would be placed there. After being in my life
for fifty three years, her death was still surreal to me.
I noticed there was no dirt pile. This
was curious to me. Where do they put the dirt? Later, I would learn that they
remove the dirt from the area because it’s disrespectful to pile it on other nearby
graves.
As I stared at the marker and the
hole in the ground, I thought about that day back in 2009 when we ran around
and pre-planned her funeral and bought the headstone. Now that she was gone, I
was so grateful that we did that. “Thanks, Mum, for taking care of me,” I said
out loud in my truck.
I also thought about those moments,
over the last days, where I thought perhaps it was starting to sink in – where I
was okay with Gram’s passing and where the fact that I had no regrets; no guilt
and no “I wish I would haves” further consoled me. But disbelief kept returning
and bringing with it despair and sadness. Again, I’d find myself feeling lost,
empty, and directionless. I missed her. I didn’t know what my life could be
without her. When this is all over, I thought, everyone would go back to their
spouses, children, and routines. I, on the other hand, having no spouse or children,
would be lost. Gram was my routine.
What would I do?
Back at the funeral home, I felt
mostly calm at first. Gram was gone, but being in her presence there – even though
it was only her body - was still oddly familiar and comforting.
Just like the day before, there were
many people who came to pay respects. There were those from ManorCare who cared
for her, old friends that I haven’t seen in many years, my writing friends,
even my boss. Many never met Gram, but felt like they had from my stories and Facebook
posts. “I feel like I knew her,” they’d say.
Of course there were family
members, too. Some were distant, some not so distant. And there was Blainey
from Carlisle’s, Gram’s old boss, and his mother, Betty, Carlisle’s owner.
There were so many stories. I loved
hearing them all. The room was filled with so much love and laughter –
reminders of a life well-lived. That’s how Gram would have wanted it. “Thanks
for sharing her with us,” I heard time and time again. The outpouring of love
for Gram and support for me over those two days left me overwhelmed with
emotion. I was very touched.
Saying my last good-bye would be
hard. I knew that. The finality would get me. For Gram I was ok - ok with her
passing for her sake. After all, she
decided it was time. How could I argue that? Any feelings that I was having
were for my own sadness, despair, and
sense of loss. Gram’s was a life well-lived. The last several days had proved
that, especially for the many people she touched in the last five or so years -
and she didn’t even know it. For that, I felt good.
As I walked to the casket for my
final good-bye, I reassured myself with the idea that Gram made her decision to
go, just as I had figured she would. That idea calmed me. “Good bye, Mum, I
love you,” I said softly as I stopped momentarily, took a last look at her, and
gently touched her hand. “I’ll be ok,” I whispered to her. “You taught me how
to.” And I knew I would. As lost as I was feeling, I knew I would be ok. Time and
my wonderful memories would make me that way. I just needed to allow it.
Once everyone finished their final
good-byes, Peter, the funeral director, had us gather in the large room where
the chaplain would lead a brief service. While we gathered, he closed Gram’s
casket and wheeled it into that large room. Richard, the chaplain from
Heartland Hospice, started off with a few remarks and a prayer and then
introduced me for my eulogy. I eulogized Gram by reflecting on the last several
days. I cited hers as a life well-lived. I then read a story that I had previously
written about her arrival at ManorCare and her miraculous recovery from near
death to a long-term, active force to be reckoned with. I sobbed through the
whole thing.
Chaplain
Richard led a beautiful sermon where he talked of how Gram served God through
her faithfulness as a wife, mother, and grandmother. He spoke of how she also
served the staff at ManorCare by giving them the opportunity to live out their
vocations as caregivers and to be the best they could be. He spoke of my and
Michelle’s faithfulness to her over the years. His reference to Gram as the “Energizer
Bunny” brought laughs. Finally, he entrusted her to God’s welcoming, loving
embrace and asked God to grant her happiness and peace forever. We prayed.
The service was brief and when it
ended, we all said our good-byes to each other and disbursed. Jude and I went
to eat after. The waffle and hot fudge sundae I consumed were much-needed
comfort foods. Gram’s solution to emotions was food. This time, I concurred.
I slept well that night, exhausted.
Eulogy:
Anyone who knows me knows that Gram has always been a huge
part of my life. I am blessed to have had her as long as I did. I mean, how
many people at fifty three can say they still have their Gram?
Gram did so much for me throughout my life, so it’s been an
honor to care for her. Apparently I’m not the only one who feels that way.
Over the last several days, even before Gram passed, there
has been a steady stream of visitors. Staff and fellow-residents stopped by to
say good-bye; to say a prayer; to give a small gift; to hug her; to kiss her. There
are those who don’t even work at ManorCare anymore, but came to say good-bye.
Among all the visitors, common themes have emerged: First, a
story - always a story - funny and told with smiles and tears. The stories
exemplified the personality and specialness of Gram. Words like spitfire,
spunky, tough, and determined were interlaced throughout them.
There was expression of deep love, too…and there was
gratitude. “Thank you for sharing Gram with us,” is a common sentiment that
folks have been expressing over and over again.
Then there’s Gram’s Facebook page. The sharing of love and
photos over the last days is overwhelming for me and I can’t even get through
all of the posts because the tears are so thick that I can’t see through them.
It’s clearly evident that Gram, even in the throes of her
disease, touched many people over the last several years. She didn’t even know
it. That is truly a life well lived.
I’m happy to have shared her journey with her. I’m happy for
the chance to share her with others.
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