![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Grammy's memorial day
Jan. 10th, 2016 05:42 pmOn Friday morning we flew to Grammy's memorial service in Nebraska. It was very familial. We went from the airport to my grandparents' old house, which has many childhood memories and (on that day) had many relatives. Then a memorial service in the afternoon, a walk with my mother, and a dinner.
It was all quite a memento mori. And as a family reunion it was good. We had more cousins together in one place than ever before, including the ones I like best, and I was able to take an hour to walk around with my mother; the walk being when we both say "okay, now how are you really?" and get answers.
Every "girl" was allowed to go through Grammy's costume jewelry and take a necklace and a ring; I took only a somewhat steampunk ring that reminds me of a spoon handle.
Seeing pictures of Grammy's life, it strikes me hard how one's most celebrated (and photographed) days are usually when one is young and when one is old. The middle-aged years are often missing or very sparsely visible. People my age really need to knock it off with the kid obsession and take more selfies. :P
Then there was looking around at relatives of all ages -- it's not really so common to be in a room like that, with the very young and very old all on display. You can see the aging process, and who's still plump and juicy in the face and who's where in the long slow process of drying out. Grammy's grandchildren, aka "us cousins", are mostly in our 30s and early 40s, and are peering ahead to the days when it's our parents dying and us doing the practical things that must be done. Me, for the moment I'm just glad that both my parents re-married, and I wish their spouses the longest of life and functional health. :P
Grandaddy's in a power chair / scooter and can only manage a couple of dragging steps between scooter and car, or scooter and lift, or scooter and lectern. He has a knee that apparently is just bone on bone now, and growing ever more painful -- and at 94 they won't do a knee replacement, because the anesthesia has too high a chance of killing him. Yow. Presumably the same goes for amputation -- lots of amputees are quite mobile -- though I didn't ask specifically if he'd looked into that. Anyway, note to self: get joints upgraded to their cyborg 2.0 versions while doctors are still willing to freaking DO IT.
My aunts and uncles are trying to talk Grandaddy into moving to a home. For now he's still in his own house, and still driving (though this scares other people more and more), and he read in a book that widows/widowers shouldn't make any major decisions for a year after their spouse dies. "That doesn't apply to someone who's 94!" says my oldest aunt in frustration. But I don't honestly know what I would do in his place; Grammy got to die at home and maybe he should, too.
Grammy loved and did so many styles of needlework, pieces of which were on display at the service. And she portrayed dragons, many dragons, along with the samplers and flowers and maps of Nebraska. Her house had wooden and ivory camels and elephants... large animals, it seems, she felt attraction to or kinship with. Maybe they were as big and forceful as her spirit. ^_^
Nobody was especially distraught. Some time has passed, of course. And Grandaddy loved being the center of attention, of course. But also, well... my oldest aunt didn't speak at the service because she couldn't think of any good childhood memories (she got the super strict parents, while later kids got more relaxed ones). Mom was the opposite, and spoke of long-ago things because all her good memories are from childhood. To her, Grammy in adulthood seemed rude and pushy and controlling. The stories from fellow needleworkers were the least conflicted, as Grammy's stylistic fearlessness and desire to learn new things brought energy to the entire club.
Maybe Grammy wasn't perfect; but I think I'd like to live long enough and well enough that people don't grieve for me, either.
It was all quite a memento mori. And as a family reunion it was good. We had more cousins together in one place than ever before, including the ones I like best, and I was able to take an hour to walk around with my mother; the walk being when we both say "okay, now how are you really?" and get answers.
Every "girl" was allowed to go through Grammy's costume jewelry and take a necklace and a ring; I took only a somewhat steampunk ring that reminds me of a spoon handle.
Seeing pictures of Grammy's life, it strikes me hard how one's most celebrated (and photographed) days are usually when one is young and when one is old. The middle-aged years are often missing or very sparsely visible. People my age really need to knock it off with the kid obsession and take more selfies. :P
Then there was looking around at relatives of all ages -- it's not really so common to be in a room like that, with the very young and very old all on display. You can see the aging process, and who's still plump and juicy in the face and who's where in the long slow process of drying out. Grammy's grandchildren, aka "us cousins", are mostly in our 30s and early 40s, and are peering ahead to the days when it's our parents dying and us doing the practical things that must be done. Me, for the moment I'm just glad that both my parents re-married, and I wish their spouses the longest of life and functional health. :P
Grandaddy's in a power chair / scooter and can only manage a couple of dragging steps between scooter and car, or scooter and lift, or scooter and lectern. He has a knee that apparently is just bone on bone now, and growing ever more painful -- and at 94 they won't do a knee replacement, because the anesthesia has too high a chance of killing him. Yow. Presumably the same goes for amputation -- lots of amputees are quite mobile -- though I didn't ask specifically if he'd looked into that. Anyway, note to self: get joints upgraded to their cyborg 2.0 versions while doctors are still willing to freaking DO IT.
My aunts and uncles are trying to talk Grandaddy into moving to a home. For now he's still in his own house, and still driving (though this scares other people more and more), and he read in a book that widows/widowers shouldn't make any major decisions for a year after their spouse dies. "That doesn't apply to someone who's 94!" says my oldest aunt in frustration. But I don't honestly know what I would do in his place; Grammy got to die at home and maybe he should, too.
Grammy loved and did so many styles of needlework, pieces of which were on display at the service. And she portrayed dragons, many dragons, along with the samplers and flowers and maps of Nebraska. Her house had wooden and ivory camels and elephants... large animals, it seems, she felt attraction to or kinship with. Maybe they were as big and forceful as her spirit. ^_^
Nobody was especially distraught. Some time has passed, of course. And Grandaddy loved being the center of attention, of course. But also, well... my oldest aunt didn't speak at the service because she couldn't think of any good childhood memories (she got the super strict parents, while later kids got more relaxed ones). Mom was the opposite, and spoke of long-ago things because all her good memories are from childhood. To her, Grammy in adulthood seemed rude and pushy and controlling. The stories from fellow needleworkers were the least conflicted, as Grammy's stylistic fearlessness and desire to learn new things brought energy to the entire club.
Maybe Grammy wasn't perfect; but I think I'd like to live long enough and well enough that people don't grieve for me, either.
