Last Rights

I’ll have a much longer tirade to go on with all the goings on surrounding my Grandmother’s burial I’m sure. Whether that ends up here or on the podcast remains to be seen.

Today I’ll be heading ‘home’ again, to our old church, right across the street from my first childhood home that was across the street from my school/church. I’ll be at my Grandfather’s gravemarker for the first time in I think at least 3 or 4 years. This time, not to have a conversation with the wind, but to add my Grams to this place we visit the decaying corpses of our loved ones though the energy they held is no longer there.

All of this brings to mind the same thoughts I had, in part, with Aaron’s passing. How weird some of our traditions and socially accepted grieving patterns can be. I’m also finding, though I have a feeling some in my family find me strange, peculiar, or uncaring for this; it is far easier to let someone go when you knew in every fiber of your being that they were ready. Grams hadn’t been HER in years. The hardest pill to swallow was these last few years of her not being at her house in her chair. Her not being there with a quick quip at someone’s expense, memory sharper than most of ours. That was gutting. Her passing not in her own bed, in her own home as she wanted. That hurts. The rest of this, for me at least, is the other part of what she wanted. Her family, talking, laughing, and being US without apology. She didn’t want tears, she hated wishy washy mushy crap (gee, wonder if that’s genetic? 🙂 ). I’m just trying to give her the send off she deserves, as much as what is going on in some pockets goes against that.

I’m trying, Gram, I’m trying.

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