At long last, we've arrived in Rochester for the first of two funerals. Today will be a lot of hard work and even more difficult mourning. My beloved stepsons and husband are here with me, and I don't think I could do this without them. I am to give one of the testimonials (eulogizing for three minutes), to read my grandmother's favorite poem (a piece on being Christian by Maya Angelou), and to help set up and clean up the gathering set for after the first funeral.
My grandmother's ashes are in a beautiful urn on my mother's piano. A small shrine surrounds the blue and gold floral urn, with candles and bible passages. I try not to cry when I look at it. Last night, I failed. We were saying goodnight, and out of habit I wished a good night to my grandma (whenever she visited when I was a child, saying goodnight to Grandma was a treat rewarded with "Goodnight, Mandina!"). I cried every step of the way upstairs to the apartment in my mother's house. I couldn't sleep for hours after that. I just had to get away and cry.
Crying is an underrated and judged form of expression in our culture. It is hard for an Introvert to be seen crying, perhaps more so than for others. It brings unwanted social attention when all we want to do is have a minute to express the feeling without needing to be switched "on" for social interaction.
My grandma was an amazing person, aside from being a wonderful grandparent and friend. She deserves every tear, even if it means that today brings absolute social burn-out. I miss you, Grandma.
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