Saying Goodbye

During the funeral, Grace sat next to me in the same dress she wore to the Father-Daughter dance. At one point she turned to me and handed me a petal from the carnation she was carrying with her, the one she wore at the dance. It was pink, and smooth, and still somehow fresh. On the other side of her Garrett was crying, and I realized that he is now old enough to feel the reality of someone's death. Next to me Drew was trying to lie down on the pew because he was tired. All around me people were crying, sobbing hopelessly. I went through all of the tissues I had stuffed into my purse, one after the other. I didn't know if I could stop crying.

We walked out of the church behind the casket, and I realized that I have been part of this family for almost 18 years now. Without our coats on, we walked down the front steps of the church into the lightly falling snow to the hearse parked out front. I carried Grace, then gave her to her daddy. We said goodbye there and I cried and cried because we will never see her again, never hug her, never hear her voice, never go to the Amish with her to get strawberries, never hear her tell me she loves me, never go to her house on Halloween because she loves to see the kids in their costumes, never eat her unbelievable sugar cookies again, never anything anymore.

It has to happen. People have to die. We have to see it happen and deal with the aftermath. That's a part of life we can't get away from, unless we choose to never interact with anyone or love anyone. And what would be the point of life then? The pain everyone felt was worth all of the wonderful memories we have. The unbelievable love that radiated from her at all times warmed everyone she knew. She was the ideal grandma, the proudest grandma I ever saw, the one who took care of you and had a way of cooking food that was almost magical, and gave the best hugs. How great is it that we had that?