My Grandmother passed away this week.
We were incredibly close and I credit her to influencing me as much as my own mother did. She gave me a sense of grounding, humility and strength I would not otherwise know.
It’s a logistical nightmare trying to get to the funeral in New York, in the middle of winter, with a toddler. As a family we have decided I will stay put and my Mother will come to us as soon as she can.
So here I am. In Australia.Trying to grieve.
Funerals are difficult but they allow us to process the loss, say goodbye, and give ourselves the memory of closure. And I’ve never wanted to be at one so badly.
I want to walk into my Grandparent’s house like I did when we lost my Grandfather, hug the first person I see while fresh tears spring up and legs weaken. I want to be able to experience the smells one last time. I want to cry and laugh with my relatives and pick at meals the neighbors drop off.
I want to see my grandmother’s still face as she lays in a carefully-chosen suit, to touch her papery soft hands, and to feel my brother’s suited arm around my shoulders.
I’m not really sure how to do this from here but I’ve been working on a eulogy and it’s helping a little. We are going to try and Facetime some of the wake and funeral which is odd but comforting. Maybe these things will help me to say this trapped goodbye.