As my regular readers know, I have just returned from my Dear Husband's Grandmother's funeral. She was the last of all of the Grandparents, for Dear Husband and I. I loved her very much. I will add here that Grandma had a sparkling wit, and a great sense of humor. When I called her with "tales of Pink and Dash", if they were good enough, she would burn up the phone lines.
The funeral service was Monday at her regular church. Dear Husband's favorite Pastor, Pastor Smith performed some of her service. Dear Husband and I were thankful he put such a personal spin on the service. He closed with the following.....Forgive me, if the words are not exact.....
"Grandma", was in her home for the past few years and it was my duty and privilege to go to her home and take her communion. She loved her family, they were her life---everything to her. She would keep me up to date on her Grandchildren, especially those far away in service. She also loved those Great Grandchildren, and would keep me posted on they're latest antics. Her family meant everything to her."
I sat behind the glass of the nursery with tears in my eyes, hearing this. I know she loved us all, and I know she loved hearing the tales of "Pink and Dash". She would giggle and smile, and I could see her smile through the phone. She loved these Great Grandbabies. She would always say...."Don't worry, they will do something worse tomorrow"........
Upon exiting the funeral, I stood in the vestibule of the church with the "toddlers" running circles around me....Standing exhausted, and with a mournful heart. Grandma's friends and relatives would come up to me and ask..."Is this Pink?" "Is this Dash?" "We have heard all of the stories" "Your Grandma would call and give us a weekly report on these 2" "How are Pink Ninja's arms?"
Yes, she shared the stories, she burned up the phone lines. Everyone at the funeral knew who these blond beautiful children were.
We get in the car, and start the 2 hour drive to the "family cemetery" out in the middle of some very sleepy farmland. A place where nothing can be seen for miles except for corn, beans, and the occasional tractor or farm implements drive by.
There must have been about 90 people standing in the hot Nebraska sun, waiting for the last of family to arrive. We stand under the royal blue awning, wind blowing black skirts, and freshly sprayed coiffs. The toddlers are fussy and crying, they are hungry. It is afternoon, and we haven't eaten yet. They are tired from the hours and hours of traveling. They are tired of strangers talking to them. I am tired from everything.
Dear Husband is in uniform, and standing with the other 5 Grandsons by the hearse. They will be carrying Grandma to her grave. There are 3 of them in uniform, they are hot in the sun, and are proud they have been asked to carry the casket.
Pink Ninja is climbing on me, crying and fussy....Dash is running circles around me...Exploring the cemetery not listening to me. I have not seen a lot of these relatives since Grandpa's funeral 12 years ago. I want Dear Husband to leave a favorable impression. I want the children to act like angels, I want to look like a terrific Mom.
All of a sudden I see looks of horror, and I hear Dash screaming and pleading "HELP ME, HELP ME!! GET ME OUT OF HERE!!! MOMMY!! MOMMY!! GET ME OUT!!"
I look for him and cannot see him anywhere. I cannot see his blond hair and green striped shirt anywhere. I follow the mass of running 80 year olds, and get to the freshly dug grave, the edges lined with astroturf and see dashes blond hair speckled with black dirt.
That's right Dash fell into his Great Grandmother's grave.
She did not have to burn up the phone lines...We were all there and got to see the whole thing live and in person.
I could hear her voice saying "They will do something worse tomorrow"...........