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In the brief, private graveside service, I read Psalm 91, 1-4, which I had found in her handwriting while going through her things the night before. I tried to get through it without crying, but I couldn't.
Grandma was the most anxious person I've ever known. She was always afraid. Those verses, I'm sure, comforted her a great deal.
It was a simple service. My stepmother, ordained, was to have spoken, but she's had a bad cold and she couldn't speak very well, so my dad got the chaplain from "the home." At my dad's instruction he emphasized that Grandma never lost her faith. She didn't.
The coffin was simple - dark wood (cherry?) with burnished handles. Atop it was a gorgeous, immense spray of beautiful American Beauties, her favorite. My uncle ordered them. There were three other flower arrangements, but I don't know who sent them. On the ground in front of the coffin, we placed a beautiful portrait of Grandma. No one knows when it was painted but it looks like she was about in her forties. My Grandma was a dude magnet back in the day.
My sisters grieved harder than I did at the funeral. My eldest sister was closer to Grandma than anyone, and she is inconsolable. It's been a hard year for her. The sudden death of one of her best friends during cataract surgery, plus my breast cancer scare and Grandma's death have made her the saddest I have ever seen her. It hurts to see her so. My other sister, to whom I'm very close, contains her grief well, but she doesn't fool anyone.
As for me, I can't imagine life without her in the world. I guess I'll find out what it's like.
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