R I P
In the middle of finals, I got a crying phone call from my mom. My grandma died. She was an amazing woman and played a huge part in raising me, my brother, and all of my cousins. She lived in Brooklyn and moved to New Jersey to be closer to my uncle when he had his kids. She was a huge influence and helped raise my cousins, and when my parents moved to California and had my brother and me, she and my grandpa split time in New Jersey and California, eventually moving to California to be a part of our lives. There’s not enough I can say about her to possibly tell you what kind of person she was or how much she meant to me.
The day after finals, I flew to Jersey for the funeral and saw my mom’s side of the family, which I hadn’t seen in over ten years. My cousins are married and have little kids, none of whom I’d ever met before. My family is so awesome and I hope it’s not another ten years before I see them again, and I hope it’s a better occasion.
Sunday for the funeral was a tough day for everyone, but it was especially hard on my grandpa. Most of us said we’d never seen him cry, and until that day it was true. First, we went to temple where the rabbi said some very nice words. Then my cousin Jeff got up and spoke for all of us cousins. His words were amazing and inspiring, but what I remember most was when he said that he could see my grandma’s influence on all of her grandkids. And we knew it and felt it. He tried his hardest but couldn’t keep from crying when he was talking, which of course, made all the rest of us cry. Later that day we went to the cemetery where we had a family plot and where my grandma was buried. As is tradition, we all threw some of the dirt on the coffin. This was the second time I saw my grandpa cry.
After the cemetery, my mom and grandpa took us to her old neighborhood in Brooklyn and I saw where she grew up. Her neighborhood had become mostly Russian and none of the buildings had the same businesses, but she could still navigate through the craziness of 86th St. and out to her house, although she could barely remember where her high school was.
Sunday night and Monday, and I’m sure the rest of the week (I left Tuesday morning), the family did what’s known in Jewish tradition as sitting shiva. It’s where the family receives guests at the house to give their condolences. A bunch of people came, some of whom were old friends of my grandma, friends of other members of my family, even some family members I had never met. And some who couldn’t make it to Brooklyn for the funeral or for shiva, as good New York Jews, they sent deli. We thought about going to Manhattan for a bit on Monday, but it was more important for us to be at the house and receive guests.
I left Jersey on Tuesday and my grandpa stayed behind for the rest of shiva and to stay spend some time with the family that he couldn’t see when my grandma was sick and couldn’t travel. I think now he’ll be spending more time with his great-grandchildren. He took grandma’s death hard, as was expected, but she was sick and it was a release for her and hard as it may to think about, for him as well.
The day after finals, I flew to Jersey for the funeral and saw my mom’s side of the family, which I hadn’t seen in over ten years. My cousins are married and have little kids, none of whom I’d ever met before. My family is so awesome and I hope it’s not another ten years before I see them again, and I hope it’s a better occasion.
Sunday for the funeral was a tough day for everyone, but it was especially hard on my grandpa. Most of us said we’d never seen him cry, and until that day it was true. First, we went to temple where the rabbi said some very nice words. Then my cousin Jeff got up and spoke for all of us cousins. His words were amazing and inspiring, but what I remember most was when he said that he could see my grandma’s influence on all of her grandkids. And we knew it and felt it. He tried his hardest but couldn’t keep from crying when he was talking, which of course, made all the rest of us cry. Later that day we went to the cemetery where we had a family plot and where my grandma was buried. As is tradition, we all threw some of the dirt on the coffin. This was the second time I saw my grandpa cry.
After the cemetery, my mom and grandpa took us to her old neighborhood in Brooklyn and I saw where she grew up. Her neighborhood had become mostly Russian and none of the buildings had the same businesses, but she could still navigate through the craziness of 86th St. and out to her house, although she could barely remember where her high school was.
Sunday night and Monday, and I’m sure the rest of the week (I left Tuesday morning), the family did what’s known in Jewish tradition as sitting shiva. It’s where the family receives guests at the house to give their condolences. A bunch of people came, some of whom were old friends of my grandma, friends of other members of my family, even some family members I had never met. And some who couldn’t make it to Brooklyn for the funeral or for shiva, as good New York Jews, they sent deli. We thought about going to Manhattan for a bit on Monday, but it was more important for us to be at the house and receive guests.
I left Jersey on Tuesday and my grandpa stayed behind for the rest of shiva and to stay spend some time with the family that he couldn’t see when my grandma was sick and couldn’t travel. I think now he’ll be spending more time with his great-grandchildren. He took grandma’s death hard, as was expected, but she was sick and it was a release for her and hard as it may to think about, for him as well.