My Granny died last week, and, though she hasn’t really been herself for a few years, I miss her greatly. She had a great spirit – “great” in the sense of wonderful, and “great” in the sense of larger-than-life.
I returned last night from spending several days with my family. We are not having a service for Granny right away, and so, to parent-less me, connecting with my aunt and uncle and cousins was an important piece of what we like to call “closure” (though I view that word with suspicion). I’ve said many times to many people that funerals and memorial services are “for the living” and the lack of an immediate memorial service for Granny is bringing that home for me more than ever.
Services can be important from a ritual standpoint, but also from the standpoint of gathering people together. I have a picture of my family gathered for my grandfather’s memorial service – a huge group of a winding family tree – lots of cousins once-removed and all that. And we’re smiling widely – smiling, in spite of the pain of grief.
So this past weekend, when my aunt and I were going through boxes of photos and letters and other stuff, we found ourselves laughing about lots of it…especially letters which Granny had saved of my father writing the family from college. My aunt wanted me to take the three-foot tall plastic Nipper dog (of RCA fame) which we all signed when Grandpa retired from RCA – a dog which faithfully followed Granny to her last apartment. There were Nippers everywhere! (I took a smaller, bookshelf-sized Nipper.)
And I shed a few tears, too. We found pictures which I didn’t even know existed from the day I was baptized. There was artwork which I only remember hanging in my grandparents’ homes, now leaning against the walls with an uncertain future. (I claimed a piece made by a family friend.)
It is a weird mix, then, this business of saying “good-bye.” For me, there is tension between wanting to grieve alone and grieve in community. There is tension between laughing and crying. And there is tension in the loving people (and the occasional dog) so much, and knowing that one of us will be saying “good-bye” to the other at some point.
Granny didn’t like to say “good-bye” – she prefered a grand “To be continued…” at the end of our phone conversations. Seems like a good way to end a blog post, too…to be continued…
