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. 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 53 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. In these instances, 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 and his mother, Betty.
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 touched.
Saying my last good-bye would be hard. I knew that. The finality would get me. For Gram I was okay 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 eventually 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. The waffle and hot fudge sundae I consumed at Eat'n Park 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 53 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 were 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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