The morning at the funeral home included a photograph of the memorial sign to Grandpa, a sitting area with only Grandpa's son & family and Grandpa's stepson & family. Dad had told everyone else to meet us at the cemetery. The procession was short, the line of cars and group of people waiting for us was large. There were the flowers from the visitation to decorate the pavilion. There was a pedestal with Grandpa's ashes on it. There were two boys in Navy uniform to unfold and refold the flag inside out, and then present it to Dad. There were a couple of prayers. There were three gunmen and three shots. There were shells from the blanks collected in a bag to present to Dad along with a commemorative coin. There was taps. Taps put my sister over the edge. I don't know where my edge is.
I went to look at the headstone and say hi to his wife. The picture on the stone is kind of pretty. I always wonder the lifespan on those things. I got a yellow rose from the flowers Mom got from us to Grandpa.
It was awkward to meet the granddaughter of Grandpa's third wife. She had been fussed over overtly and my sisters and I distinctly excluded from the group. She didn't remember us though, but I kind of got the impression I wouldn't like her anyway. Deciding to set aside everything I remembered about people to meet them again as if it were the first time--I was surprised to notice that I didn't like her much even now.
Breakfast was nil. I got done too late. I was suffering through a headache and the lunch at the Elks lodge could not come soon enough. They weren't ready to serve when we got there so I helped set out some more pictures. (I absolutely love the idea of photographs at a funeral. It's so happy feeling.) Everything we set out was framed. We surrounded the flag they had presented to Dad and everyone milled around the table and talked. The lunch was mostaccioli and ham sandwiches, tea and coffee, and a selection of cakes and brownies. Grandpa had wanted pulled pork but they couldn't get it together, apparently. I'm not sure why not, but I suppose mostaccioli was easy enough. The cole slaw was really good (recipe for reference: cabbage, poppyseed dressing, vinegar). I needed a pile of water, and I'm really tired of terrible coffee. I can't wait to get home for a good cup. I'm not sure how such a populated area has such a meager offering of coffee houses. It's a definite culture difference.
I got to listen to my sister talk about her time in Iraq, which I had only heard bits and pieces of before. I will try to sit down sometime and concertedly remember the stories and write them down. I'll have a lot of quiet thinking and remembering to do. Then Grandpa (Mom's dad) told stories to parallel hers, particularly a great story about Kuwait and selling a piano to a girl who only came in for a damp bar. (I think that's what it's called--it draws the humidity out of the air and you put it in by the strings part of the piano.) I always loved listening to his stories. It was nice to hear them again.
Dad and Mom did a fair amount of table hopping and visiting. Me and my headache waited until the headache couldn't stand it anymore and took off running. Then I went and talked to my dad's step-sister. She likes to travel, doesn't like bears or to fly. She has retired, sold the horses, and likes to fifth-wheel--the part that made Dad happy and he invited them on a joint camping trip. I heard she kind of separated from the rest of the family when her mom died (Grandpa's second wife), but Dad thinks she might reconnect with everyone now. Age and death do that to people, I guess, make them feel mortal again, and make them realize the importance of those who love them unconditionally. Though, I'm not sure that all the civility of the past two days wasn't masking a significant list of conditions that haven't been met.
We went for a drive afterwards to see all the old tramping grounds that we could see from the road. My baby sister didn't remember much of anything, but then again she started kindergarten after we moved to Michigan, and it's not likely she could remember much of Missouri. I even remembered a significant number of details more than my other sister, who is only two and a half years younger than me. It was good anyway, naming everyone we could remember and recollecting the way things used to be. We looked at our old house, Grandpa's old house, and as much of the farm as we could see from the road.
It was weird, knowing so much about blackberries, bushes I would hide things under for other days, and how far we would hike from home. I couldn't see everything I remembered but I fit it all in by memory.
We went for a drive afterwards to see all the old tramping grounds that we could see from the road. My baby sister didn't remember much of anything, but then again she started kindergarten after we moved to Michigan, and it's not likely she could remember much of Missouri. I even remembered a significant number of details more than my other sister, who is only two and a half years younger than me. It was good anyway, naming everyone we could remember and recollecting the way things used to be. We looked at our old house, Grandpa's old house, and as much of the farm as we could see from the road.
It was weird, knowing so much about blackberries, bushes I would hide things under for other days, and how far we would hike from home. I couldn't see everything I remembered but I fit it all in by memory.
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