I think it was last Monday when I posted in here before. I'm honestly not sure, because it has been a very long week. On Saturday, Feb. 2nd, my husband's paternal Grandmother was found dead in her bedroom. It was determined that she had died in her sleep. My husband and I were initially surprised to hear she had died, for we were not aware of any illness. The woman was 89 years old. My husband's uncle had started the process of planning a big party for her 90th birthday just last month, with her birthday being in July.
Friday, there was the viewing at the funeral home. Against my husband's better judgment and at the unspoken request of my mother-in-law, we brought the baby with us. As I had suspected, having our little boy with us did a great deal to cheer everyone's spirits. My husband was concerned that the little monster was going to start screaming at the absolutely wrong time. This, however, did not prove the case. Actually, the little man did a great job and I'm quite proud of him. Last Friday was a very full day for him, for in the morning and early afternoon we had gone to visit my brother's wife and children.
Saturday, all of us were up early. It is an hour's drive to my sister-in-law's place, and she was going to watch our boy while we went to the funeral mass. It was a beautiful service. All of the hymns that my husband's grandmother loved were sung as part of the mass. There wasn't a dry eye in the house, however, at the end when her sons and the rest of her family sang 'When Irish Eyes Are Smiling'. I just couldn't sing, because the shock of her death finally hit me.
I couldn't find my voice to sing 'Amazing Grace' either. I think, for me, the most painful moment was watching the men load her casket into the hearse. It just was so... final. I've seen loved ones pass on and I've gone to many funerals. I believe, however, that this was probably one of the two most painful one's that I've had to attend. The other was the one for my great-grandmother Hazel, when I was a girl. I didn't realize just how deeply I cared for my husband's grandmother until the shock of her death wore off and the painful reality slapped me in the face.
In all of this, I strove to be the warm, loving presence that provided as much comfort to the family as I possibly could, just as I had done with the death of my husband's maternal grandfather a little over ten years ago. I am not sure how successful I was, but I will say this- I managed to provide a little bit of comfort to my husband's younger cousin and to my father-in-law by acting in the manner that his grandmother would have in that moment.
My husband's cousin hit the point of near inconsolable weeping as we were exiting the church after the casket. It broke my heart to see this young man so shattered. I took him in my arms and held him as he wept, giving him the handkerchief I had with me. We didn't say anything for a moment. I then told him that everything was going to be alright. He nodded and manfully faced the rest of the day with a courage that was beyond his years.
In the case of my father-in-law, I didn't really think much before the words came out of my mouth. I did, however, restrain the urge to swat him across the back of the head as I said it. He had the nerve to apologize for the tears and grief that everyone was showing. He then thanked me for coming, as though I didn't have to do so. I couldn't help the irritated tone and I did catch some of my husband's uncles smiling at this. I snapped at him: "You just lost your mother. Don't you dare apologize for crying. You're supposed to. And I'm family, I'm supposed to be here."
He blinked at me and sighed, having the grace to look a little embarrassed for it. I found out later that this is exactly what my husband's grandmother would have done and said, most likely word for word as well, in that situation. I've actually learned more about my husband's grandmother over the last several days then I did when we had our chats. I'm a lot more like her then I realized. I also now understand why she was so amused with me when I asked her if she had any advice she wanted to impart to me before I had my son. She just smiled and said, "Oh, you know what to do. You'll be fine." I suppose I would have said the exact same thing to some one who reminded me of myself when I was younger and in a situation that was the same as what I had been in at that age.
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