I went to Texas this week for my grandmother’s funeral, which was amazingly good.  She would have loved it.  Two of her former preachers flew in from out of state to sing.  My mom spoke and did an incredible job.  It was sad, but also funny and sweet.  Everyone who knew her knew that she was always hot and cranking up the air conditioner.  It was actually cool outside, which is *not* normal for September in Texas, and there was a joke that she’d obviously found the thermostat. 

I always called her Tooty, which she didn’t actually like so much, but she never made me do otherwise.  When we pulled into her church parking lot on the morning of the service there was a car pulling out with plates that said TOOTR.  I asked my aunt if she knew that car, but she didn’t.  I’m not practical enough to not take it as a sign. 

I don’t really know what to say, other than I’m very sad and it’s very very weird to clean out the fridge of someone who’s just died and that you love so much. 

We found an old suitcase with photos and 45 rpm records that were my mom’s when she was a baby and napkins from their wedding in 1947.  The photos are so great.

She saved a bunch of letters I sent her, so I brought those home but haven’t read through them yet.  There are some from when I was ten or so and staying at sleepaway summer camp.  She had this photo of my grandfather in her purse (he wrote her a sweet and rawrrr note on the back, but it was obviously just meant for her)

Poppa died just twelve days before Willow was born in February of 2003, and I know she’s missed him so much ever since.  The resounding theme of her funeral was how happy she is now to be with him again.  I’m trying to be happy for her, for that, but really I just miss her.