she laughs at the days to come

it was a completely and utterly lovely day outside, yesterday. i took the opportunity to tromp around in the woods, camera in tow. i felt kind of alone; dan had gone up to visit friends and see a movie. but in the end, it was exactly the balm i needed--being alone in the snow.

The Wake

thursday was the wake. as usual, technojoy overtook my uncles and they had photos on stands, as well as TWO slide projectors of old pictures. it was entertaining to see how my brother looks like my dad, when dad was young. in fact at one point i had to ask someone for claification because i thought, what the hell is david doing in that picture?

there were a lot of pics of grandma, fishing. and the one of her giving me a ride on her schoolbus, which she drove for 14 years. i doubt i was 3 at the time. i remember that after i had my ride, grandma gave me the pick of the lost and found and unclaimed--i got a few brushes and combs that i think are still in my mother's drawers at home. mom was suitably appalled and all utensils were soaked in some kind of disinfectant before i got to keep them.

my uncles thought that perhaps they would have time for a few prayers, but everyone was laughing and commenting and having such a good time that they never interrupted or bothered. it's interesting how your perception of a person can be changed, based on the views of others. i always thought my grandma was kind of cold, and that booze was a substitute for love. but the people giggling over pictures did not share that sentiment.

i was fine the whole evening, until i saw my uncle paul. my uncle paul is actually my grandfather's brother; they look enough alike that, although my grandpa's been gone for well over a decade, when i saw my uncle paul, my whole chest clenched. he and his wife, vernie, are both getting up there in years. they were never able to have children, so i think my uncle dan, who was my grandma's keeper, is also keeping an eye on them. paul still drives, and is quite capable of cooking and everything, but vernie's blind. apparently she relates the recipes from memory and paul just follows direction.

paul got a bit overtaken when he realized that him, vernie and another sister-in-law, florence, were all that was left of his generation of family. he counted them off on his fingers--all his brothers and sisters and in laws, gone. a tear rolled down under his glasses. my sister and i exchanged glances; she asked what pies they had recently baked, as they still do a lot of baking.

we did some mingling and re-meeting, reminiscing. at around 730 the receptionist gently kicked us all out; she wanted to go home and of course we were running late. had some ice cream at my sister's, watched a biking dvd that had footage of my brother, and turned in for the night.

The Funeral

friday morning i got up and according to my dad's direction, left the house at 9 so i could be at the church by 10, for the funeral at 11. i figured with traffic, i'd make it around 10 but not before.

silly me.

i got there around 940, grabbed some caribou coffee (caramel high rise, so delicious!) and headed into the church. uncles dan and tim were there, as well as tim's wife and my two cousins. eventually we tracked down the gal in charge of the service, a petite, soft-spoken, lavender-suited woman named jerry. she went over when to come up for the readings (which my cousins did) and the intercessions (which i did). then we just stood around talking for an hour and meeting relatives and friends who'd come for the occasion, some from quite a distance.

my dad's brother bob was still in hospital; he had his other hip replaced dec 1st, so missed wake and funeral. and my other uncle, jed, is still in palm springs, rehab-ing from strokes. tim and anita and their kids and dan sat in the front row. mom and dad sat in the second row. my cousins therese and her husband sat in the third row. fourth was empty, fifth was my grandma's side of the family, and sixth row was my family's children.

(we'd gotten a bit confused; sara and i had to get up and do things during the service, and wanted to sit on the edge. but dad was also supposed to do things, and would be exiting the pew...so we sat separately. halfway through mass, i made the executive decision that after communion our row would decamp and move to their row...which we did. it was kind of a feeling of solidarity.)

the first reading was the one that made me think, i haven't read the bible in years. (which i did do, at one point. i think i skipped kings or leviticus...can't remember. the one about how to build the tent that housed the ark. and i don't remember reading revelations...) anyway, there was a line in the reading that is my title today--i liked it so much. it really summed up for me who my grandmother was--the parts of her i knew, and the parts i did not. she laughs at the days to come--even in her dementia, when she felt abandoned and betrayed by her own memory, she kept her humor and spirit.

as most of you know, i'm nowhere near a practicing christian. i'm mainly pagan, with a dash of wisdom from philosophy and other religions tossed in for flavor. the church of kim, is what i usually call it. it's kind of a hotdish version of all these things assembled and baked for 30 years, with cornflakes to top.

some things in the christian doctrine still speak to me, mainly because they're so close to being pagan. for example, the priest smudged the altar with incences about fifteen times during mass. bells ring while he's performing different sections, which usually is done to scare of evil spirits. the whole time, i could see the circle being drawn around the altar, and it reminded me that although it felt foreign--as though i'd returned home after an extensive stay overseas--it was still familiar and i could be comfortable here.

do as you will, an it harm none. love thy neighbor. where's the difference? i'm not going to waste time drawing thick, black lines to separate myself from all the things i have added to my hot dish. that was my mass distraction.

at the end of mass, when i could feel my throat tighten and the tears building, the choir came from their perch and gathered around grandma's urn, and sang acapella. there were about 10 white-haired church mavens, all who'd given up their day to sing my grandma to heaven. it was probably the most spiritual part of mass, in my opinion.

i felt like i was going to sob, but just before i could do so, i noticed the flower display to the left of the urn swaying, and the annoyed and somewhat embarassed face of one of the singers, as she realized that she'd knocked it. and all the feelings of sadness i had--all the fears for my parents, and the grief--it all got up and walked away, and i smiled.

i wasn't even able to cry when my dad picked up the urn and walked grandma out--the oldest son, carrying her away.

they had a meal afterwards, cold salads and some warm chicken stuff that tasted like stroganoff, but no one could figure out if it actually was stroganoff. kibbutzed with my family, met one of my dad's second cousins who we found out had brothers playing in pro hockey, and watched my dad's first cousins hold up a picture of my grandma when she was sixteen or so next to my sister, beth, and comment on how similar they looked. they were right; she does share many of the same characteristics.

the picture had been at the wake too, an 8x11 of grandma looking younger than imaginable, and glowing. in the bottom right corner there was a note, penned in her hand: to my loving mother, from your loving daughter.

i wept on the way home. later, friends gathered to play some spygame until late, and collapsed.

Saturday

when i woke up, it was snowing. soft, fresh snow. we were scheduled for a few inches, maybe 2, but in the end i think we got about 4 or so. i was feeling for beef stew, so after my walk i hazarded into target and grabbed some items, and came home and put the stew together. made 3 loaves of banana bread that substitutes tofu for eggs. watched the bbc version of pride and prejudice.

i was going to take the short route through the woods. tired, my nose was colder than i remembered it being, and it was slippery under the fluffy snow, mainly because of all the cross country ski tracks. i was enjoying the waves i created, the snow riffling out front of me. flakes were falling thick and fast, and i was having trouble seeing, even more trouble taking pictures.

halfway through, a skinny girl skiied towards me. she didn't have any poles, just her arms moving. i was reminded of my cousins, who race cross country in the winter, who'd just read at grandma's funeral. as she came up she skiied to a stop. how do you get to the hockey rink, she asked, cheeks flushed. i pointed behind me: take a right at the bench. she started to ski and then said, if you turn left up ahead, you'll see a spot of snow cleared out; i lost my mom's watch, i think it was my grandma's watch.

then i noticed the tear on her face, just one. how her cheeks were blotchy, not in the pattern of exertion, but in the pattern of distress. i'd just seen a church of this, the day before. i said i'd check, and if i found it, i'd leave it at the hockey rink.

left at the next intersection. i started to think that perhaps her idea of a large spot where the snow had been trampled was a smaller spot than my imagination was searching for. after a good twenty minutes, i was ready to give up. i stood at the top of a small rise, looking for the wide, triangle shaped marks that would mean someone had recently climbed up a hill. there weren't any. i thought perhaps i should head back, that perhaps i'd missed it. nah, why not keep walking. as i went down the hill i could see what she had done--instead of the bird-shaped marks, she'd removed one ski and just pushed herself up the hill on the other one. smart girl.

at the bottom of the hill, i found the area--a big spot. you could see where she'd realized she'd lost it, and then the backtracking. i looked around, i swept gently with a stick.

i remembered when i was in high school. i'd borrowed a ring from my mother, dark coiled wire, one she'd brought back from italy. it fell off as i walked, and i was in near hysterics because i knew where the ring had originated. i cried for a while on the shoulders of friends, and then later in the day, when i figured i was going to have to find a good story to tell my mom, the ring turned up.

i remembered that feeling, searching for something my teenage mentality told me was going to ruin my relationship with my mother forever. who knew what how she was going to react?

that story ends happily. i don't know how mom would have reacted. when i got home, i told her the truth--that i'd lost the ring, but that it had been found. my mom laughed and said that the ring was a trinket from italy, not something on which she spent a lot of money.

i didn't find the watch. it'll probably turn up come spring, when things melt. or even next week, if temps rise. or someone else will find it, and it will become a memory in their minds, some other person's keepsake. i don't know the girl's name, or how to find her. i don't know how her mother will feel, or how old that watch was, or what memories were attached to it.

in fifty years, that watch will be forgotten. that daughter won't care about that watch; she'll care about her mother, and her father, in a different way, one that reminded me that the grief my uncle paul felt, and the grief that stained my father's cheeks, is a grief best kept for losing a person, and not a piece of jewelry.

Sunday

the sun is out. i've got beef stew bubbling in the kitchen, and banana bread with cinnamon on the counter. homemade pepper biscuits will be made soon to accompany the stew. whatever happens in the next days, i must remember to do just one thing, something i have done but often forget: laugh at the days to come.