It's good to see our land up and running again. It was kind of like being lost in a strange land with no family.
Ok, not really, but it was disturbing.
I'm not really sure what I want to say today. There are a lot of things on my mind.
The funeral and stuff went really well last week. We celebrated Grandmama's life as we said "Ta-ta for now" to her. Not "goodbye" you understand, because I fully believe that I will see her again. I'm not sure how all that works out, but I do believe that.
I saw some cousins that I had not seen in several years. Probably about four years, since we gathered for Grandmama's 90th birthday back then.
I knew this one was going to be hard. She was my closest grandparent, by far. There was a bond between Grandmama and me that transcended time and distance. We were always close. I was her "sugar pie."
You can stop laughing now.
Don't make me come over there.
When we had the family viewing Wednesday night, I was basically ok for a while. It helped that the funeral home did such a horrible job of "restoring" her. Didn't look like her at all. Frankly, I don't know why we even do that. It's a disgusting practice. We should just have a picture or something from when they looked their best. Not an open casket with a dead, empty shell of a body in it.
Anyway, I was doing ok.
Then my cousin Kaye got there. Whooboy. We hugged and cried. And cried some more. Then my other cousin Lee Anne got there. More hugging and crying. My step-cousin Ricky got there. Nuh-uh.
Ok, we hugged. But it was a, you know, "man-hug."
So we stayed there for about two hours. Also had a surprise visit from two cousins on my mother's side (oh, yeah...Grandmama was my dad's mother), Johnny and Jayne. That was cool.
The funeral was at 10am Thursday. It was hard. God, it was hard. I agreed to bear the pall. Whatever that means. What's a "pall?"
I was crying before we even got in the church. The minister did a wonderful job. It was a great little talk, and I could tell that he had to stifle tears several times, himself.
Then we had to do that awful thing where we all file by and look at the body. And they make the family wait while all the friends and very distant family people walk by and cry and gaze and stuff.
I got by the body ok. Then I turned around and Christi walked up to me, crying. I lost it, my friends. I have not cried that hard in years. I know, I know. She's in a much better place. Dancing on the streets of gold with brand new hips and ears that work. But I miss her, God, I miss her.
Don't ever let anyone tell you that "men aren't supposed to cry." If you don't cry, where does it go?
Tomorrow will either be my review of State of Fear by Michael Crichton, or it will be about this Terry Schiavo (or however you spell her name) fiasco.