My Grandfather died 10 years ago. I was a complete emotional wreck for most of the funeral. I felt very guilty for not having kept in better touch with any of my grandparents and most of all Grandpa because he was the only Grandpa I ever knew (my mom's dad died when I was 2 weeks old). Needless to say, I tried very, very hard to keep it all in, so whenever anyone tried to talk to me about Grandpa (even to offer condolences), I was so afraid I would burst out crying.In a way, this turned out to be a very good experience for me because a year or two after my Grandfather's death, I started calling my Grandmother regularly - usually once a week, sometimes once every two weeks.
At first, we didn't have much to say and my Grandmother always seemed so surprised whenever I called. She'd politely ask me questions, which I'd answer and I'd politely ask her questions which I didn't feel too embarrassed to ask. As the years went on, though, we'd become a lot closer and we'd keep up with each others' activities. She knew I quilted and, once we bought our house, I had started a garden. I knew that she was constantly working on embroidery projects and that if I caught her at the right time, she'd tell me family stories. We always told each other what we had done that week, especially in the summer when we both had gardens. When I told her that a moose had gotten into this year's garden and had eaten all of our cabbage and kohlrabi starts, she was mortified (in fact, I think she was more upset about the situation than I was).
When she passed this August, I was so upset, but I felt more at peace over her death than I did my Grandfather's. I felt as though I had actually known my Grandmother and I didn't feel any of the guilt I had when my Grandfather passed. I actually felt a little lost toward the end of the week because I didn't have anyone to call anymore.
The funeral, though, was amazing. I was so thankful that I was able to attend. I was even able to say more than than I did at my Grandfather's funeral; I told a whole story. Grandma was one of those people who, when they got an idea in their head, would follow it through to the very end, no matter what. She and I went to Nancy's Notions in Beaver Dan during the winter of 2007 and bought some crafting supplies there. Grandma bought a yo-yo maker and I promised her I'd teach her how to use it. She enjoyed making them so much that I told her that if she made me some yo-yo's, I jokingly told her that I'd make her something. When I went to Wisconsin for the funeral, Gloria told me that there was a box of "puffy fabric things" and that Grandma had told her that they were for me. I was completely clueless until she got them out and showed them to me. I laughed and then almost cried because the box was full of yo-yos.
I had several people tell me that they enjoyed the story. I'm considering making a quilt or wall hanging out of them. I used a few to decorate a hat I made before the funeral.
I heard many wonderful (and surprising!) stories about Grandma while I was there. It was nice to see the number of people that had come and the amount of coleslaw and carrot cake that was eaten.
I still don't always remember that Grandma's gone. Sometimes I think I need to call her or send her a card. Sometimes I think about the farm and all of the delightful things my sisters and I did while we were there. Now that my Grandmother's gone, I'm thinking about bringing Arthur and Baby X down to Wisconsin for part of the summers to play on the farm like my sisters and I did. I think they'd enjoy themselves.
"Life is fragile," Dad said constantly while I was there for the funeral. He's right. It certainly can be. We don't know when, how, or where, but there is one certainty: life. It's fragile, so cherish it.
Blessed be.
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