Since my brother and his wife are flying back on Tuesday, everyone got together for dinner tonight. It was the first time everyone had been in the same place since the funeral and the atmosphere was kept light, mostly on purpose. It was very hard to get a handle on how others were feeling since everyone grieves in their own way. However, one tradition that has never been altered at family gatherings is the saying of grace before the meal. It was almost always Grandma's job. Occasionally she would give someone else the opportunity, but it was her standard job. Tonight my mom said grace and afterwards it was very easy to see how everyone felt. The pain was just underneath the surface and hearing my mom echo the sentiments that my Grandma always touched on brought things back just a little too soon for everyone I think. It's times like those that I'm really glad our family now includes Gage and Kadin. They've been able to lift everyone's spirits just by being themselves.
At the viewings and funeral (and even afterwards) everyone gives you their heartfelt sentiments at these times and everyone means well. You've heard them all at some point and repeated them yourself. It's very awkward and no one really knows how to handle that particular situation. Most of the sentiments deal with some view of religion. "She's not suffering anymore." "She's in a better place." These are things that you expect to hear and repeat without actually stopping to consider the words themselves. My Grandmother was a person who, just by being herself, would feel bad that she caused us any amount of pain by dying. So, perhaps she is still suffering a little. Not painful suffering, but a suffrage of love.
And, since I recently read Albom's book on his view of heaven, I began to think about Grandma in that perspective. Is she standing in someone's line? Mine perhaps? Who was standing in hers? My Grandfather? My Uncle?
My uncle unearthed a picture of my Grandmother's family at my Great Grandmother and Grandfather's 50th wedding anniversary. All 7 of their children were there. My Great Aunts and Great Uncles including those that passed on before I was born. My Great Uncle Frank was my Grandmother's brother. His wife Opal and her brother Tracy both came to the viewings to pay their respects. After seeing the picture, Tracy told a story about the first time he ever had spaghetti. (Did I mention Grandma was very Italian?) The men came in from the fields and were served huge platters of spaghetti and meatballs by the women. He said he would blink and they would have a fork full of spaghetti neatly wound and ready to eat. It was an amusing story and I was able to relate in an odd sort of way. I was 15 or 16 before I realized that not every family has spaghetti and meatballs at every holiday dinner. We had all the "normal" holiday foods + spaghetti and meatballs. Thanksgiving was turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, sweet potatoes, corn, spaghetti and meatballs. Christmas and Easter were ham, mashed potatoes, corn, spaghetti and meatballs. It never occurred to me that this wasn't something every family abided by.
Where am I going with all this family rambling? To my view of heaven. For the past week or so, Grandma has been sitting at a huge table with Great Grandpa Tony, Great Grandma Jenny, Great Aunt Lucy, Great Aunt Louisa, Great Aunt Betty, Great Uncle Frank, Great Uncle Joe, Great Uncle Fred, her husband Frank, and her son Frank. And they've been eating a never ending platter of home made spaghetti and meatballs, twisting the pasta with perfect precision while the conversation revolves around family and love. One day I want to pull my chair up to that table, too.