I went to the cemetery today for the first time since Gram's funeral. I am not really the kind of person that thinks the deceased hang out in the cemetery. After my Gramps died, I made several trips a month with Gram, to make sure his grave site was taken care of. I would always pause and think of him, but not like an image of him hovering over the headstone, delighted that I had placed fresh flowers; more of a pause to think of his soft hands and twinkly blue eyes. Then I would hop back in the car and on to the other several graves that needed tending to.
Gram was a super freak (in the most endearing way) about tending the graves. We always did Gramp's, Aunt Jean's, and Gram's mom and dad weekly. There were many others who got the treatment on holidays. I remember a year that one of our Lake Powell trips happened over Memorial Day. When I mentioned that we wouldn't be coming home early for that day, she made it out like we were canceling Christmas.
I prefer to think of my deceased loved ones, fishing "southern style" like you see on
Swamp People, or haunting people who have scorned them. I never think of them chillin' in the cemetery. Maybe I am too clinical, but I've seen a dead body or two, or seventy-five, and the spirit doesn't seem too linger very long. I think that is doubly so once they are just bones in the ground. Stop me if this sounds like a Hallmark card.
The thought has entered my mind once or twice, since the funeral, that my Gram is going to expect me to keep her grave up, and she will probably drop in from time to time, just to patrol it. Several times after dropping Emma off at school, I have known that 2 hours would be the perfect amount of time to fly to Heber, drop some flowers, have a melt down, and fly back home, but I just couldn't do it. Part of me was holding on to the idea that she was still at home, waiting for me to have a day off so we could 'hang.
What I wouldn't give for one more day to hang with her. The last day of her life, my Mom called about noon and said that Gram wasn't responding. I was instantly filled with dread, AND hope, that this could be the day she was free. As we loaded up the Hoodlums, and headed to Heber, everything seemed so surreal. It was a beautiful day, and as I entered Gram's bedroom it was very obvious that her death was imminent.
We spent the afternoon at Gram's bedside, neighbors and family members filing about the room, staying just a few minutes to share a story about Gram. I watched the blinds above her head move with the wind and felt so comforted by the sound of the aluminum tinking against the window frame, a noise that I had long listened to as a child sleeping in the room across the hall. I looked out the window that she had added to their house, in order to be able to see what we were doing next door. I thought of all those times in my life that she had kept track of me. When my parents were out of town, and she didn't recognize the car in the driveway, I got a call. When I was out playing basketball in the driveway, she hollered "Nice shot" from the window. When Dave and I were renting the basement as newlyweds, she would watch for our cars to pull in and then give us a call to come and get some food.
Watching her now tiny frame in the bed, I was moved to remember the many times I spent next to her there. From my childhood naps, snuggled tightly between my grandparents, my legs between my Gramp's shins, and my back pressed tight against my Gram, a veritable granddaughter sandwich; to my late teenage years, flopped on the bed, whining about whatever mishap was currently affecting me. That same bed became a welcome rest when Dr. Phil became popular, and Gram and I would lay there after a nap and watch him "tell people like it was." She liked him because he was a straight shooter, I liked him because he got Gram all fired up. When my babies started to come along, we moved the Dr. Phil party out to the living room, to avoid waking the Hoodlums.
I was so grateful that the Hoodlums got to have Gram in their life, and they were very comfortable with her death as well. All through the afternoon, they would come back into the bedroom, and climb right up on the bed to rub her hand or give her a hug. Emma kept the mood light, by popping in and asking if "Gram was dead yet?" I can't even begin to say how thankful I am for the knowledge I have of the Plan of Salvation, and the comfort and excitement I had for her on this last day.
Before we knew it, the neighbors and family were all gone, as was the last light of day. My Mom and I sat on either side of the bed, hand in hand with Gram. We talked softly until her breathing changed, and then I stroked her face softly and assured her that she could go. In the most peaceful moment I have ever experienced, she was gone.
Six weeks later I wish for that same feeling everyday. I miss her so much, and didn't realize how much of my time was really spent with her, or thinking/worrying about her. I don't really know what to do with myself. Twice, I have had full blown meltdowns in Smiths, once when a checker asked me where my Gram was that day, and the next time when one offered their condolences. Most recently, while Dave and I were eating coconut shrimp, I lost it, when out of the blue I remembered spending most of Christmas Eve one year, peeling and deveining shrimp, for our annual Fondue night with Gram and Gramps. I was pregnant at the time, and became so disenchanted with the shrimp process, I couldn't eat a one, by the time the party rolled around. They have spent Christmas in our home for the last 8 years, and I can't even imagine what this year will be like without them.
I thought that our roles had reversed in the last several months, and that I was taking care of her, but clearly I see now that she has always taken care of me. Looking at her grave today, it was a mess, just like me. There is still no grass where she is laid, the headstone is not settled, and there are no beautiful flowers to honor an amazing couple. She would never had stood for such neglect, or let me wallow this long, for something that is really actually wonderful.
I guess I am going to have these days every so often and just need to remember, "This too, shall pass." One of her favorite sayings, and "Dammit all anyway." In the words of my Gramps
