My grandmother just died. I’m not sure of the exact time, but it’s within a few hours of this post.
As always when someone I know and love passes, it doesn’t quite hit me right away. It takes time. I almost have to see them to realize it.
I understand my name is up for the eulogy and I will do my best to do her proud, without making it sound too much about anyone else. The pastor who read at my other grandmother’s funeral spent an inordinate amount of time on reading scripture and talking about Jesus, making the whole thing upsettingly impersonal. It was clear, being a new pastor to the church, she’d had next to no interaction with my grandmother and therefore, had no right to eulogize her.
It will be hard to separate this eulogy from the one my brother gave for my grandfather a couple of years back. We spent most of our youth having adventures with him while she baked at home, so while I won’t say we were closer with him, because we were all close, we have more stories to tell about that wonderful man.
And he was a wonderful man, and the two of them were hopelessly devoted to one another. At ninety, you could see the love in his eyes as he took care of her, and the incredible amount of pain he went through when she started to slip away and stopped recognizing him.
I don’t think it was a coincidence that he passed shortly after he checked her into the nursing home; he’d gotten her the help she needed, but the woman he loved was already gone. He took care of her and then he laid down his burden and went peacefully.
I will do my best to honour her, and him, as in my mind, the two were nearly indivisible, as a testament to love and a testament to kindness.
Goodbye, Gram. We love you.