My grandmother passed away last week. I flew to Florida to attend her wake and funeral. I was accompanied by my mom, who hasn't flown in 10 years and was scared beyond belief. We made it though, without incident I might add.
It was a tough weekend. I was happy to see my grandpa (Papa) and my Aunt who I haven't seen in five years, and spend some time with my (step) sister. It sucked that it came this way, but life has it's subtle reminders for you. Take time, or live with the regret. I get to spend the rest of my life wondering what kind of relationship I could have had with my grandmother (Gramme) had I picked up the phone and called or written a letter. All I have are the memories of an 8 year old girl, blurry though they are, they're special to me.
The grandmother I remember was not the frail body I saw this weekend. I don't know what they did to her, but she was not there. I've never done well at funerals. I don't handle bodies very well typically. This time, however, I was ok. I cried and hugged family, but I also said goodbye, something I can't normally handle. I'm so grateful I could do it this time, I think I really needed it.
After the wake and funeral, we shared stories and memories of days that have long passed, it was nice to wake up in a house that I had only a childs memory of, and it was still the same. The furniture, unmoved, pictures still hung in the same place, the toast and tea for breakfast, everything just like it "used to be". Though, I am older now, I reverted back to feeling like I was that little girl again.
It was the hardest trip home I've had to make, I cried more in the last 4 days than I have in months. Real, genuine tears. I have promised myself I will not let years pass by again before my next visit and I will pick up the phone and call my grandpa more often. He's such a sweet man, I miss him already...
On my way to Orlando Airport yesterday, my husband called with some grim news of our dog. Apparently he couldn't move the back half of his body anymore and was dragging himself around. The prognosis was a herniated disc (most likely). He's on steroid therapy for a few weeks and they are hoping it will heal itself and he'll be fine. If it doesn't work, it means surgery and no guarantee that it will help at all. The thought of having to put that poor puppy (he's only 7) to sleep breaks my heart, but it hurts more to see the sadness that has consumed my husband. Rocky is literally one of his best friends.
Let's hope this is the end of my thunderstorm and I get to see the sunlight soon.
