There are two things I have grudgingly come to appreciate about funerals: the reunion-like quality of all the people who gather, and the way death cuts through my trappings and gives me a chance to reflect.
|Ben made a potholder for his granny (my mother), Grandma's eldest.|
|He thought Granny would be sad because her mother died. He was right.|
I'm going to be reflecting on Grandma's legacy for a while. But these are my initial thoughts:
1. She chose to love her family above all else, even when we changed in ways she could not approve of. Other people in her generation judged their families unrelentingly. My grandma chose to let that go.
2. from the tribute I gave at the funeral:
"Grandma always was as neat as a pin with firm ideas about cleanliness and tidiness. Her home was always so soothing to me because it was clean and neat. Everything always seemed right in Grandma’s world. I am not so naïve as to think Grandma had a perfect life, but I loved how she created order and serenity around herself. This is a skill that inspires me."
3. from the unabridged tribute which I did not read at the funeral:
"Grandma clung to her homemaking ways when she and Grandpa downsized and moved into their cottage. I remember Aunt Esther shaking her head because she wanted to take Grandma to buy a new coverlet for her bed, but Grandma wanted to cut patches and sew a coverlet herself. I totally understand. Grandma was from a generation of women who found their identity in making a home and caring for their families. I know some of them resented it, and some of their daughters wished they would take time for themselves, but I guess I, a granddaughter, saw the rosy side of this nesting."
|The potholder, wrapped. Everything chosen by Ben.|
Pondering. Counting my blessings - I'm humbled and grateful.