Yesterday was the funeral, and I have never felt such a peace. It was sad, and we will miss her, but she was ready. She had said goodbye to everyone. Said thank you. Talked about her husband’s arms (who died over 30 years ago) and talked about how now was the time for her to fall into them again. How grateful she was to have had such a loving family.
She was ready, and she had prepared all of us. And there was such a peace yesterday. Grieving and tears and reconnections and peace.
I am grateful to have known her.
And to have found the peace in grief, and to be mindful enough to notice.
With my grandmothers I don’t remember any peace. Not for a long time after. To be able to sit in the church, where the service was conducted by a nephew who is a priest, and to be surrounded by love, and to know she was ready and this was what she wanted.
This was a gift.
The rituals and the words were an unexpected gift. And as I sat in the church, looking up at a representation of Jesus that I had not seen before I was taken by the sun shining in and lighting him up and felt like this was right. As it should be.
And I am sure she would have felt standards were maintained and the funeral was fitting.