A long drive into Modesto yesterday. We drove from fog into sun, watching the fog lift from the sides of the rolling hills, and then back into the dense, cold fog. Brad looked over at me as we walked into the church and said "are you sad?". I smiled at him and said "not yet", but wondered if he was.
I felt my insides sink when I was told that she passed, like a little piece of my spirit was bruised, but I also felt peace and concern for Brad and Grandma's children in the days to come as we waited to hear when the services would be. It didn't really hit me hard until I walked into the church, hugged Uncle Butch, and opened my eyes over his shoulder to see her lying in her casket, as beautiful as ever, in her finest clothes and jewelry. I then became flooded with sadness and emotion and tears. It was hard to see her there, and hard to see the people I love cry, or try not to. She looked like she always did, except for her lips. When I saw her lips I knew she wasn't there. It's a strange and uncomfortable experience to see her body lay still, so still that when I looked hard it looked like she was breathing, and know that the essence of who she is is no longer part of the body she lived in. It strongly emphasizes how much more important our souls and hearts are. It strongly makes clear how our physical-ness is only temporary. Funny, to see and feel that message so clearly, because I've been struggling lately with our culture's strong emphasis on what we have "physically", and the material things (the things we can't take with us) that we are encouraged to believe actually matter, and define who we are. NOT. Not true. I was reminded of that when I saw Grandma. I got the chance to know what a loving soul she is. That love doesn't go away when she dies. It lives in us, through us and it's my personal belief that it lives on in the flow of the universe. I also realized that death is important. I think it's something I fear and so I haven't let myself really feel the scary feelings and questions I have about it, probably because there is so much unknown that remains unknown until it happens to you. It's as important a part of life as birth, so I chose to tell Ava that Grandma died and what that means (in 2 year old language, of course). After all, it's an opportunity to show her that it's nothing to fear and teach her a little about my personal belief of God, or a Higher Power.
It was a beautiful service. Many memories of Grandma, and comforting thoughts from everyone who spoke. I loved that the minister approached me and Betty before the service to tell us that Ava & Caroline could do nothing wrong during the service, and to let them be as they would be, for we are family and that is real. So Ava listened a little, cuddled us, and crunched her soy crisps, asked us if she could go home a lot, and told me she has to go potty 2 minutes before the end of the service. I'm so glad I didn't feel shame about that. I know Grandma would have been okay with that, at least that's how I knew her. It touched me deeply that this picture was printed in 8x10 and framed for all to see. The oldest and youngest in our family. I'm so glad Grandma got to meet Ava, see how much she looks like Brad, and once more admire the hands of a child. She always talked about how much she loves their little hands.
As we gathered around her grave site (she had already been tucked into the earth) many spoke of memories they had of Grandma. Brad and I stood next to each other, I held Ava, and then we felt the sun on our backs. The sun broke through the fog for less than a minute and warmed our backs. Brad and I looked at each other. On the car ride home we talked about how we both felt that was Grandma saying good bye to us too. Things like that don't just happen. And how fitting that Helen means "light". I've never been so proud to have that as my middle name :)
We felt you Grandma and we'll miss you.
101 years and 4 days old.
January 20, 1910 - January 24, 2011
some photos of January.
