How Did I Get Here?

Friday

Quote of the Day: “There’s no point in being grown up if you can’t be childish sometimes.”

- Doctor Who

It was a cold day today.

But it was clear and I guess that’s how it should be. The conflict between a beautiful day yet being cold. Just like being home to see my family but to bury my grandmother.

We went to the funeral home where my grandma still lay in her open casket. Since last night, I had gone back to my aunt’s house and slept soundly in a comfortable bed. My grandmother did not move. She was right where she was the last time I saw her while I had gone and come back.

I joined the other pallbearers and we received instructions of how to line up, what our duties would entail, etc. I was not about to drop my grandmother and I thought it a great honor to escort her to her final resting place.

After all, how many times had she carried me, starting with the day I was born?

We lined up outside and her casket was wheeled out. We took ahold of the casket and respectfully moved it into the back of the hearse before we took our own places in a separate limo.

We were in the lead behind the procession of cars. Well, in the lead except for the police escort. My hometown, Arkansas City, Kansas is pretty small and it’s a testament that they would provide a police escort for a funeral procession for an 86-year-old Mexican woman.

When we got to the church, there was a small snafu. The funeral director forgot one small item and we had to wait in a line behind the hearse while it was brought from the home. It was the collapsible stand that the casket sits on while in the church. It probably would look a little silly to have the casket just sitting in the aisle.

We stood out there in the cold but I had my blues on and I was just numb all over anyway.

For the second time today, I was able to lift my grandmother and escort her.

We took her in the church while our family looked on.

The Catholic ceremony was about to begin. As I pointed out yesterday, I am not Catholic so the ceremony was only meaningful to me as far as what I knew my grandmother would have enjoyed.

I was actually doing OK despite being separated from the family (the pallbearers sat on the opposite side) until my cousin, Jennifer, started singing. She sang “O Holy Night” and she hit the high notes so pitch-perfect and beautifully that I had streams of tears rolling down my face as the notes pierced my breaking heart.

How she accomplished singing so beautifully is beyond me. She was so emotionally close to grandma that I would have never bet she could have made it through the first verse. Add in that she hadn’t sung professionally in 5 years and you have an incredible performance befitting the love she had for Grandma.

After the ceremony, we rolled the casket back out to the hearse and headed for the graveyard.

I knew exactly where this place was, not only because it was befittingly on Kansas Ave., but because it was right across from my Uncle Donny’s house who I was named after (middle name = Donald).

Compared to the rosary and the service, the graveyard portion was short but just as emotional. This was where my grandmother would be buried and where I would come to visit her for as long as I was alive.

I think this picture sums up any explanation I could possibly come up with…

They don’t actually drop her into the ground in front of the family. I guess that would be too much to see so the casket is set up and the priest says some more short comments. Then everyone is invited to pass by and talk to the family, although most of the people there WERE “The Family.”

I was touched that my father had showed up at the church and to my surprise, Lois and David showed up.

OK, explanation needed: my parents divorced when I was very young so it has been a long time since my grandmother was my father’s mother-in-law. But he lives in Ark City so it was thoughtful for him to dress up and come out to the funeral.

Lois is my father’s step-mother. She married my grandfather, who passed away years ago, and although not technically my grandmother, she had been married to grandpa for as long as I can remember and always treated me like a grandson.

David is their son so he is my dad’s half-brother and my half-uncle.

Being from the other side of the family, I was deeply moved that they took the time to come out and pay their respects. I am not surprised, just moved. It’s what the “Grose’s” do.

My grandmother’s closest sister was Aunt Nora who died in the 80s. Grandma never really got over that and my memory of Aunt Nora was that she had a pacemaker that I could always hear and looked remarkably like my grandmother. She was Becky’s grandmother (from yesterday’s explanation).

My Uncle Manuel pointed out that they were both buried close to each other and a row back was Aunt Nora’s grave.

We stood there and talked for a few moments and it was the first adult conversation I ever had with my Uncle Manuel. He was at the foot of one of his sister’s grave, at the funeral of another one of his sisters, talking to her grandson.

Not only was I dealing with my grief but my mother was not doing too well.

Not surprisingly because it was her mother after all and who among us is able to handle that without a rough emotional episode?

I kept going back to the grave and we were the last to leave. I would start to walk away and kept coming back to touch the casket.

I couldn’t say goodbye.

I would return later that day.

But in the meantime, we headed back to the church where there was a reception. The “church ladies” set up a lunch for us and I immediately changed out of my constricting uniform in an attempt to enjoy the food and company.

I tried to get as many pictures of the people I loved as I could between getting something to eat and participating in conversation.

The one picture that was important to me was the group photo of the surviving brothers and sisters. Many of these exist throughout the years but I only have two.

This one was from 1938.

Then the next one I have is my grandfather’s 80th birthday.

Now this one.

We got one of the next generation of cousins.

And all of my grandmother’s children.

(Uncle Nick made sure they were lined up youngest to oldest)

Then we went another generation and got this one me and the Booher kids.

I even got a good one of my wife and me.

(Carrie with her omnipresent cup of ice)

And then we were passing around pictures and someone gave Uncle Phil a picture of him dancing with a girl. In fact, two pictures with TWO different girls and he went around to everyone asking if anyone knew who either of them were since he had absolutely no recollection of the identities of these two beauties.

He and Uncle Joe made almost forensic investigations.

The hour was getting late and everyone had to get going. We said our saddened goodbyes and went back to my aunt’s house which seemed empty without the crowd. But we had my cousins there and we all had a good visit, remembering grandma and the crazy things she would do.

And we also had to deal with my Uncle Kent who, other than looking like Phil Collins ever since I could remember,

(Sue-Sue-Susudio)…

… was busy doing his normal Uncle Kent things (grabbing knees, pulling pranks, teasing, etc.)

He’s been known to wear women’s hats to piss off my mom..

He’s been known to “wander” into pictures with a face to ruin them..

His latest gig: false teeth.

I will point out two things at this point. He really isn’t retarded and CAN behave when he has to. He DID create this…

2. My Aunt Barbara deserves instant sainthood.

We ended up going to eat dinner with my dad tonight but before we went there, we had to make a very important stop. I wanted to see it. I wanted to see the final product after all was said and done.

So we headed out and although you can read everything in my face, I was not the most-affected by this scene. It was Carrie who took the picture through blurry, wet eyes.

I think this final picture sums it all up.

Free Advice for Today: “Take a photography course.”

- H. Jackson Brown, Jr.