Solemn Thoughts and Heart-felt Words.

Things have changed. Forever.

She’s gone. My grandmother has left this earth, this life…this family. The days have changed forever, a level a darkness and doubt I truly could not have anticipated. Its one of the reasons I haven’t been writing…ive been to PA and back..trying to sort this out. trying to understand this all..trying.

(which of course, I can’t)

At the end of May, it ended. Memorial day weekend. That friday. It happened. I left work early that day, flew to PA, and made it into york around 10:00pm. Within 5 minutes of my arrival in town she was gone. And for the first time i truly saw death. My grandmother, still warm, lying motionless in a bed, with her mouth open….silent. I stood there in shock. muted shock as everyone cried, as my mother broke down, my uncles teared, and my grandfather, bless his heart, sat at the side of her bed, clutching her hand, caressing it, his head downward, eyes gazing at the floor.

The whirlwind began. talks of funerals and caskets and flowers. Getting everyone together, adds in the paper…so many trivial things. so much business.

And the family met the next morning. The children. I also attended, even though i wasnt supposed to, being a grandchild and all.

Talks went on, what pastor to find, where to have the funeral…etc.

Talk of the Eulogy…

And i felt my lips move..I heard my voice…even as I shook in sadness and fear. E: "i’m going to do it. The Eulogy. I’m going to give it."

And my mother, my aunts and my uncles all looked at me….and paused. Then they nodded. "that would be nice."

For some unknown reason. I wore a suit to PA. The suit I was wearing at work. I did stop at my Apartment, but I decided not to change. So luckily, i had a suit for the funeral.

And the funeral came. At the viewing, I placed my First picture of me and Santa Clause in her casket, as well as the picture of me and santa from this past christmas. (every year…since i was born, i always gave her that for christmas.) She always hung them up…sat them around her room, and the house. In fact, one still sits on her dresser to this day, and it breaks my heart to even enter that room…

I had spent the entire 2 days writing the eulogy. I sat up in the park, and later typed it up at my aunts house, trying my best to use lackluster words to describe the foundation and "pillar" of my life. The one that was always there for me..even when my mother was not.

The viewing/funeral went something like this:

It was a typical funeral home I suppose; not that I have particular attentiveness to them of course, in fact…this was the first viewing I had ever attended in my life.

There were rows and rows of chairs…plush, confortable chairs. velvet ropes, a well-placed wall obstructing casket visibility from the waiting area. Were I to guess, i’d place the number of people/chairs at the pinnacle to be somewhere around the vicinity of 80, though that is a rough guess as best, and I, of all people, was quite distracted with more pressing matters than chair-counting.

It began with Pastor W. He spoke much like I had anticipated, citing something from the Bible and speaking of fire and brimstone and faith…as all the evangelicals do. He tipped his hat to my grandmother by saying he "heard she was a great person but that he didn’t get to know her too well." And i sat there, waiting for this tyranny to end.

And it did. As he asked "would anyone like to say a few words" and i stood up.

"I would."

And he gave me the stand.

It was shiny, brass, and had just enough room for me to place the scribbled on copy the eulogy on it. The pastor took a seat somewhere on the side, and I looked out on the mass of people. On my family, and their friends…on everyone who had come to show their support.

And at once, as i swept across the gallery of faces, each one stared at me. "Say something" I could see on their faces "say some wonderful and great about her, so that everyone knows her beauty."

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And i gathered myself, and spoke through my tears:

I held up a copy of the funeral card, the card with her name emblazed on it.

"I don’t know who this is" As i pointed to the card. I’ve never used that name in my whole life.

"Grandma" was her name" (Mom to some, as i tried to force a smile). Because that was who she was.

North Street was her home. Grandma made sure it was everyone’s home. It was, and always will be, the family home.

I was lucky enough to grow up in that home. Though I definitely wasn’t the first, and I doubt I will be the last, person to live there. It lasted until I was 7 years old. I remember it because, I began to cry when I found out we were moving. My mother had gotten married, and they had just bought a house. "I don’t want to move" I said, I don’t want a new home.

Grandma smiled at me and said "the house you live in the first 7 years of your life will always be your home. And it always was.

Even when I didn’t live on North Street, I still left over ( i think i remember right) 1 night a week. I always tried to sleep over more. Whenever my mom would drop me off to stay there, I would always know what time she was coming back. I always would lie down, and pretend to be asleep when it was time for her to come home, in the hopes that my mother wouldn’t want to wake me, and would let me spend another night there. Thats how much I enjoyed being on North Street, Thats how much I felt at home…and that feeling never changed.

I moved back in when I was 15. It was highschool, the teenage years. I’m sure I was a hellion, and I put my poor grandparents through alot. (then again maybe not that much..) After all, the police only came to the house 2-3 times because of me. My uncles had me beat on that one. She never yelled at me about it though.

I will always remember the summers, when my friends and I would go out at night, and not get home to late, late…like 3am. It was always the same crew…the 4 or 5 of us I hung out with in Highschool, and we would end up sleeping on the floor in the front room downstairs." No blankets, no pillows, everyone still in their clothes, shoes, etc.

Grandma would come down, and say "you boys need to sleep upstairs, I’m afraid ill tramp on you"

-It wasn’t that we shouldnt be there.

-It wasnt that we were drunk

She was always worried, and just wanted us to be sleeping in our beds, and not on the floor.

That was her attitude, always caring.

At the beginning of this I said how i was looking for a memory, a time, a moment which would be the best example of Grandma, who she was, and what she did.

In the end, there was a clear choice.

Christmas.

Grandma made christmas the most magica

l day of the year. Forget santa, forget the reindeer, and even the christmas lights. Christmas was christmas because of all the, effor and work that grandma put into it.

Earlier you heard the number of family being read off. 11 children, 27 grandchildren, and 7 great-grand children.

On christmas day, on north street, everyone had a present. Everyone. And it was what I asked for. It wasn’t a filler present…it was something picked because she knew me, knew what i liked. Whether it was a video game or a cabbage patch doll, it was always there wrapped in shiny paper and hidden among the endless stacks of presents, which were all in the front room. it looked like christmas.This was the way that christmas was meant to be. And she made it possible.

There was nothing like it. Christmas was and still is the only day of the year that I wake up early. The excitement as never faded. And it was grandma that made christmas possible. It was grandma who went shopping all year round, for everyone…for everything.

I live in Missouri now. Everytime i come home, I stay with my grandparents….in my room. (at this point, my youngest aunt smiled and yelled, you wish it was your room!)

-Everything is different now…out of place.

I’ve been staying at home for the past week. I’ve been sleeping downstairs. Once, and only once i tried to sleep upstairs in my room. I could still hear her…walking towards the bathroom, late at night. Her slippered feet shuffling on the floor…towards the dinosaur light.

And then i remember…this is her house, it will always be her house.

North street will always be my home. But more importantly, it will always be her’s too.

I just want to take this last opportunity and say I love you very much grandma, and thank you for everything you did for me, and for the entire family. We will miss you so much.

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That was by far the most difficult thing I ever had to do in my life. Afterwards, my grandfather came up to me (first) and said "that was wonderful, E" and hugged me. "thank you so much for that, she would have been proud." The rest of the family, throughout the course of the night came up and thanked me as well. My mom called it "beautiful"

My uncles asked why I did it. I looked at them and said "because some things need to be done right. and i wasn’t going to let this be done poorly. It was a hard thing to do, but it needed to be done. so i did it."

My uncle D looked at me and said "she is proud of the man you have become, we all are."

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It was such a powerful thing, giving that eulogy. Before this time, I have never seen my words…write as a spoke them, make a whole room of people cry. I joke about writing and speaking and things, and sometimes i underestimate just how much an effect i have on people.

On the other hand, I’m so glad i have the ability to have done that right.

Definitely one of my more triumphant moments in life.

-Its been two weeks since then. I’m trying to get over it…to get back on track. (writing this is one of the ways.)

Oodles o’ love,

Erotique