Memorial Day

Memorial: something designed to preserve the memory of a person, event, etc., as a monument or a holiday; preserving the memory of a person or thing; commemorative; of or pertaining to the memory. 

Today was Grandpa's funeral, and it was also the beginning of Memorial Day weekend. Fitting, I think. Lots of memories. My memorial day began with Mom picking me up from work to drive to the funeral home to see Grandpa one last time. Once we arrived, Mom and I waited in the large waiting area - a very nice, calm, peaceful, open room which I had been in a few times before. It was hard to even sit in the waiting area (while the funeral home director made sure Grandpa was "ready" for us) because of the rush of memories that came flooding back. I remember sitting there when both my grandmothers passed, my cousin, and my Papa. I thought of them in their coffins and how each of them looked as I prepared myself to see Grandpa. I knew he would look different - and sometimes that is a bit scary and weird. But, before I could think too much more about it, the director escorted Mom and I back to Grandpa's room. 

I was so glad I went to see him. When I had last seen Grandpa, he was lying in his nursing home bed about 30 minutes after he passed away. He looked old, sick, and distressed. Upon entering the funeral home room, seeing Grandpa in his coffin gave me peace and relief to see him looking much more at rest. Of all my family members who have died, and who I got to see in their caskets, Grandpa looked the most like himself. He looked clean-shaven, very thin, and peaceful. There's no other word for it - very peaceful. His hands were still - which was a rare thing to see these past several years, as they would always tremor just a bit. His lips were thinner than I'm used to seeing, and he had a faint line of red around his eyes, but when I'd look at his facial skin - I could "find" my grandpa. There was that cheek that I kissed so many times. There was his bald head that we splashed water on when we were little. And, upon his head, he wore the yarmulke from my wedding. He looked decent, dignified, and respectable in his suit. He looked distinguished, and I was proud he was my grandpa.

After many tears and hugs between Mom and me, I told Grandpa one last time that I loved him. And, as we walked out, the funeral director asked that I sign a verification of identity form. I had never done that before, and I felt a little odd being the one to do it. The director assured me that no one else would be there to do it, so I felt it was okay to sign it (and I immediately called my dad to be sure it was okay). In that moment of writing "granddaughter" on the line with the word "relationship" underneath it, I felt that maybe I was doing one last thing for Grandpa, even if it was minor. As I wrote that word, I felt a bond to him as all the little girl memories came back - running to his car after school to get to the chocolate he would bring us, riding the little scooter all over his house and in the front yard, pretending the "little pool" at his house was a fast food restaurant that Kira would swing by on her raft in the "big pool" where I would take her order, watching Grandpa cut the bushes with his big shears, holding his hand on my wedding day, and so many more. 

The day continued with the funeral service at Temple. As the family entered the synagogue, I saw a choir loft full of blue-robed singers ready to sing for Grandpa. I did not know they would be there, and I turned to my mom with tears in my eyes and asked if she knew they would be there. She nodded, and I cried. I was touched that they were there to give a "send-off" to him. I loved that the choir he loved to sing in and be a part of for the past 25 years or so was there. Each time the choir sang and those tenor voices joined in, I got a little weepy - almost as if I could hear my grandpa's deep singing voice among them. And, then, so many memories of watching him sing in the choir loft, of coming to his holiday performances at the mall, of hearing him sing in the car - they all came rushing in. And I was grateful.

Speeches and prayers were nice - a little long, but how do you wrap up (almost) 94 years of love and of life into a short time? So many things to reflect on and share, and so much of what was shared was repeated again and again, proving that Grandpa was true to himself and to those around him. He was such a a good man with wonderful qualities that everyone wanted to make sure to mention. 

Following the service, we slowly made our way to the graveside. Before the rabbi began, the Honor Guard placed the American flag over Grandpa's coffin. In that moment of seeing our country's flag on the casket, I was overcome by my feelings of not only patriotism but also of my pride in my grandfather's contributions to our country. Is it weird to say I have never been prouder of who my grandpa was than in those moments staring at his flag-covered casket? One of the soldiers played "Taps" on the trumpet, a song I think I've only heard in war movies where the fallen soldiers are being honored. After the trumpet blares stopped, the Honor Guard carefully and meticulously folded the flag and turned to my aunt to present her with the flag. Then, the rabbi began the final prayers before the casket was slowly lowered. This moment, as is true for every funeral I've been to, was the hardest. I guess I'm just really poetic in the thinking I have - this is the last time Grandpa would be above the earth, the last time he'd be in the sunshine, the last time he'd be a part of the living world, the last time we'd be this close to his body. Everything having to do with Grandpa from that moment on would only be a memory.

At the conclusion of the service, we were able to perform one final mitzvah (good deed) for Grandpa by shoveling dirt on the coffin to help bury him. As Sam and I made our way to the shovel, I placed 4 Hershey kisses on top of the coffin. Why four? Well, my other grandfather, Papa, always said that you should only have 4 Hershey kisses. And, well, for most of my childhood, my memories of Grandpa revolved around him picking us up from school with chocolate, and he'd spend time with us at my mom's house after he'd pick us up. So, I placed one chocolate from each of us: Mom, Brock, Kira, and me. Then, Sam and I each shoveled a scoop of dirt onto the casket. Then, just as we had done at Sam's mom's burial, Sam and I shoveled a scoop together to symbolize Banner's mitzvah in helping bury his great-grandfather. 

The rest of the evening was spent around family and friends just doing what Grandpa would have wanted most - for us to be together. It's hard to believe his life is over. I feel a great sense of closure today, which is a blessing. When Sam's mom died, it was sudden and unexpected. Grandpa, however, lived a wonderful 93 years, and, at least until the past couple in the nursing home, his years were spent well. He was active, fit, generous, loving, giving, committed, kind, and genuine. His life was well-lived, and we have so many memories to look back on with happiness. 

I wish death and its aftermath were not a part of our human experience. But, if it has to be, then I find peace knowing that Grandpa lived a good, long, healthy life to watch his 3 children, his 12 grandchildren, and his 8 great-grandchildren grow and be happy and healthy, too. I feel more closure, too, in having seen him again today looking so handsome and peaceful. 

Rest in peace, Grandpa. I love you, I am proud of you, and I celebrate you this Memorial Day - today - and everyday.