Saying goodbye

Calling hours and funerals—they are strange, sad and sometimes even joyous places. My grandmother's calling hours, though subdued, were also filled with joy. I know that among my immediate family, we were all happy to be together again (sans David, who had to work). We haven't all been in the same room since July. I could see other family groups felt the same way.

My nephews were beside themselves to hang out with one another, trade baseball cards and play tackle with Noah. I should note that they were in another room of the funeral home, and no worries about Noah; He can hold his own, even among 7-8- & 9-year olds!

Also helping to brighten the mood was a looping video of photographs of my grandma and grandpa and their huge extended family. We laughed out loud at some of the shots. There was a goofiness to gram and grandpa that exuded from them. They just had a flare for making their own fun and for loving one another. It was a treat to walk down that memory lane. My sister-in-law Anita made me chuckle when she remarked to my brother Tim that they didn't have any great photographs like that... at least not without beer bottles in them. I like their honesty, especially since I know I'm probably in the same boat!

During the funeral yesterday, several thoughts raced through my mind... 1) I had only ever been in my grandparent's traditional Lutheran church one other time aside from Christmas (that I can recall)—for my grandfather's funeral. It was odd to be in that church without the enormous Christmas tree and white banners hanging from the walls. And there was such a different feeling, a pall that stuck with you long after you left its walls. 2) I wondered what my dad was thinking. I wondered how I would feel if I were in his shoes. To miss his mother and his father... but to know they were together again. What a difficult conflicting round of emotions to stomach. 3) I was sad. I thought of all the years of staying at my grandma's house and the adventures my siblings and I got into there, and I grieved then for my grandma and the life she lived.

As usual, my most difficult moments came in the graveside ceremony. I struggle when it comes time to leave a person behind. It's silly, really, because their souls have gone on to better places long before. But I know that that moment marks the reality that a person will not come home ever again.

So I let the tears flow inside the cold, green tent provided for the brief internment service in the cemetery, and I leaned on my husband's shoulder while the minister sang "Abide With Me"...and then it was over. I said a silent goodbye to my grandmother, and I walked back to my car in the snow and ice. I took a deep breath and watched others file back to their cars. And then I felt peace. Just peace.