Grandma

"The bonds of affection are not dissolved by death." --the priest, during the funeral homily (Francisco: "He must have gotten that somewhere.")

"Philosophy was a preparation for death. When death is present, the philosopher is present." --JVS, "The Death of Plato"



I lost my grandmother last week. She passed from this world pretty peacefully and quickly, after one day in the hospital, and after having attended my cousin's wedding with family only a week or so before.

The funeral was good. It's only the third Catholic funeral I've attended, the second since I've been Catholic. At the end, we see the culmination of everything we've been living for. The priest sprinkled water on the coffin, reminding us of Grandma's baptism, which itself foretells death and resurrection. Having Grandma's coffin at the mass reminds us as we receive the Eucharist that we are connected in that moment with those who have gone on before us and who are already with Christ. The funeral reminded me that all of life is a preparation for death, even though I often get distracted and forget.

Grandma was a tough Philly-esque lady--I mean, 4 of her 6 kids were boys and her husband was a character, so she had to be tough. After struggling a lot with breastfeeding herself, she helped found Le Leche League in her town. (My dad told us stories about uncomfortably walking downstairs as a boy to a living room full of nursing women.) She was proud of me and other of her grandkids for breastfeeding. (Although the truth is, Grandma was very straightforward about her thoughts. She once told me about my extended breastfeeding, "It doesn't have to be a marathon!") She made granola way before granola was a thing (both literally and metaphorically). She's a cool lady.

She and Poppop were present at each Easter Vigil when my sisters and I were received into the Catholic Church. They came to our late-night parties afterward, too, which was amazing because they weren't young (and I remember those parties ending at 4 a.m., not that they stayed until the bitter end). They came when my first son was baptized. The Catholic connection with them was a special one.

Grandma spent a lot of time giving money to organizations who sent her appeals in the mail. Poppop told her how much money she could give, and she carefully read the appeals and sent them money. She also carefully sent birthday cards to her many, many grandchildren, and always picked out a gift for them when I brought my boys to see her. I must note here, that the last one was a really, truly strange book about a guinea pig dressed up as Oliver Twist. (Picture below so you know I'm not making this up.)

I know, the guinea pig is not relevant.

Grandma spent her life in the same spot--she was invested in her church, in the school to which they sent their children, even in their nursing home--she and Poppop used to go to the nursing home some Sundays (when they themselves were in their 80s) and help push people in wheelchairs to mass. In a world in which we don't tend to stick with the same place in that way, I find my grandma's life to be a really beautiful thing.