Grandfather
Originally published at The Poetic Exodus. Please leave any comments there.
I went to Missouri this week for my Grandfather’s funeral. It was very difficult - physically and emotionally draining - but something I needed to do.
The visitation and services were beautiful. There was such an outpouring of love from so many people. His casket was pecan wood, and it was beautiful. It just looked like “him.” The flowers on top were autumn colors, and had a ribbon that Grandmother had imprinted with “Love of my Life.” There was a spray of flowers from the four of us grandchildren that said “Grandfather.” He held three red roses - one from my mother, her sister, and Grandmother. At the funeral, the pastor spoke, and Grandmother and Grandfather’s next door neighbor for the last 35 years spoke. I gave the eulogy, which was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I needed to tell him what he’d meant to me.
I don’t think my life will ever be the same. It’s just so hard to think about the fact that he won’t get to hold my future babies or see Martin or Terri or James get married. More than anything, I wish I could heal Grandmother’s broken heart. It’s such a roller coaster of emotions. One second I laugh, and the next I cry. I just miss him so much.
We spent Wednesday evening at Grandmother’s, looking through old pictures. I found a couple that looked just like my brother.
In this one, he’s 24.
Here, he’s 29.
Here are a few pics from the dinner after the services.
This is my brother, Martin.
This is my cousin, James.
My Grandmother and her two sisters (she’s in the middle)
My sister, Terri.
