Remembering Grandpa

Grieve not, nor speak of me with tears, but laugh and talk of me as if I were beside you there.

~Isla Paschal Richardson~

My Grandparents with their five children on their 50th wedding anniversary just two weeks before my grandfather passed away.

When I was very young - probably too young to understand - I had a couple of great-uncles die.  I have vague memories of their funerals and, frankly, little more than that of them.  I have scant memories of one set of my great-grandparents but don't remember anything about their passing.  When I was 16, I lost a good friend who had had a seizure in the middle of the night and died.  But then IT happened - on the 18th of May 1980, the person I loved most in the entire world died. Even though I was grown and married with children, I felt like a little girl again. My beloved grandfather was gone.  I consider it to be my first real experience with death.

It was a weird experience at first - surreal.  Everyone around me was grieving and crying and whispering.  I went to my uncle's house because my grandmother was there.  The people from the funeral home came and talked to her, my mother and my uncle about my grandfather's services.  There were several people there - all relatives I'm sure - but I only remember my grandmother, mother and uncle.

My moods went from sadness to excitement over seeing so many relatives until the reality hit me.  I remember walking into the funeral home to see my grandfather for the first time.  I was smiling and talking gleefully about something as I walked in.  Then I turned my head and saw the casket.  I don't know what kind of look I had on my face, but I felt frozen.  I reached for my husband's hand and grasped it firmly.  He walked with me to the casket and as soon as I laid eyes on my grandpa, I lost whatever control I thought I had.  He was really dead.

My moods flip-flopped back and forth many times over the next few days.  As long as I could go see Grandpa resting peacefully, I was okay.  Then, the day of the funeral.  I knew this would be the last time I would be able to look at my grandpa again.

The family ushered by the casket, each saying our personal and private good-byes to this wonderful man.  I sat in the family section next to my dad with my two sons.  My husband was a pall bearer and was sitting with them.

Someone came and closed the blinds so the family could no longer see the casket.  I asked my dad why they did that - I couldn't see the casket from where I was sitting but I wanted to watch the funeral!  I don't think he heard me because he didn't answer.  After a few minutes, the blinds were opened and I figured the funeral home staff had gotten the message.

When the funeral was over, another wave of reality hit me.  I started crying and begging my dad to not let them close the casket.  It was months later when I learned that that's exactly what they did when they closed the blinds.

Thirty-two years later and I still remember it like it was yesterday.  I've lost other family members who I loved deeply since then but I've never had another experience like that. Maybe I became an experienced 'funeral-attendee' after my grandfather passed away.  The last person I lost was my mother two years ago and her passing is the closest I've experienced that was like Grandpa's.  For reasons I'll keep private for now, I think that was one of the biggest surprises of my life.

This wasn't where I wanted to go with this blog but I started typing and it's where my fingers took me.  Perhaps tomorrow I'll draw a new map for my fingers - one that takes them where I want to go.