Yesterday was Tasha’s grandmother’s funeral. I thought I was going to be totally OK, but I was pretty wrong. For one thing, Jeanne was laid to rest in her favorite maroon velvet running suit that she wore to every family event and to every family vacation that I have seen pictures for. The funeral home did an amazingly good job with her and she looked very much like she was asleep there. I was holding it together pretty well until the very end… they had a service with some readings, and then everyone got a final procession up to the front to have one last viewing before the end.
As everyone walked up there, Amazing Grace started playing from somewhere. That got me going. Then I saw the immediate members of Jeanne’s family walk up there, and some of the toughest men I know were openly crying. OK, now we’re in trouble. I stood up to go up there and I started thinking about how Jeanne was telling me how much her family meant to her, and some of the things she was saying about finally feeling loved a few days before she passed. I looked over and saw that Bill (Jeanne’s husband) was crying, and that was it. I cried and I am not ashamed of it in the least.
About two or three minutes later I was OK, but I officially suck at funerals. My wife, on the other hand, handled it like a champ. In the end, it was good to see so many people there to remember Jeanne and I was happy to be one of them.
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