It's Friday the 13th. Not an ominous day. But keeping in mind Grandma Jackson's superstitious way of life, I thought it appropriate to write about her today.
I attended her funeral on Wednesday, March 11, and had the seat in the mortuary that happened to be nearest to her closed casket. Even though Winter and I were squished next to some distant relatives on an unfortunately pink and uncomfortable sofa, I was happy to have that seat next to Grandma J. Surrounding her casket there were, of course, hundreds of flowers arranged in fancy bunches and bouquets. There were also many framed weathered pictures showcasing grandma in her youth. She was a tomboy who worked as a machinist for many years, yet she possessed a femininely breathtaking beauty! In many of these pictures she wore bright red lipstick that offset her sky eyes.
As the funeral services went forward, tears were cried…but there were also laughs. Many laughs about her sweet and sassy ways, her quirky traits, her theories of superstition and her seriousness about being a good mother. Her closest relatives got up and spoke. Hearing the story about how she met her husband touched me, even though I'd heard it many times before.
When I think of the last few years that I've known Grandma Jackson, the hugging stands out the most. She loved giving these long and sweet embraces--those hugs always made me feel like everything was okay in that one moment. When I first became friends with Winter and started spending a lot of time at the Flint residence, Grandma Jackson insisted (almost immediately) that I call her "Grandma." Not Imogene, Gene or Mrs. Jackson. Just grandma. I had no trouble adjusting to that. She, along with the rest of the Flints, made me feel right at home (despite my different lifestyle/religious preferences).
I like to think about the way she walked--with a sort of sway. And the way she talked in that whispery voice. I think it's hilarious and sweet that she would only ever leave the house the very same way she entered. It was so logical to her and so confusing to everyone else.
We headed to the cemetery in Kaysville and everyone put a single daisy on her casket before it was lowered in to the ground. It was a sunny, warm day in almost springtime--her favorite time of year!
I never avoided black cats or ladders the way Grandma Jackson did. In fact, this day really never meant anything to me…until now. Now I will think about her.
I attended her funeral on Wednesday, March 11, and had the seat in the mortuary that happened to be nearest to her closed casket. Even though Winter and I were squished next to some distant relatives on an unfortunately pink and uncomfortable sofa, I was happy to have that seat next to Grandma J. Surrounding her casket there were, of course, hundreds of flowers arranged in fancy bunches and bouquets. There were also many framed weathered pictures showcasing grandma in her youth. She was a tomboy who worked as a machinist for many years, yet she possessed a femininely breathtaking beauty! In many of these pictures she wore bright red lipstick that offset her sky eyes.
As the funeral services went forward, tears were cried…but there were also laughs. Many laughs about her sweet and sassy ways, her quirky traits, her theories of superstition and her seriousness about being a good mother. Her closest relatives got up and spoke. Hearing the story about how she met her husband touched me, even though I'd heard it many times before.
When I think of the last few years that I've known Grandma Jackson, the hugging stands out the most. She loved giving these long and sweet embraces--those hugs always made me feel like everything was okay in that one moment. When I first became friends with Winter and started spending a lot of time at the Flint residence, Grandma Jackson insisted (almost immediately) that I call her "Grandma." Not Imogene, Gene or Mrs. Jackson. Just grandma. I had no trouble adjusting to that. She, along with the rest of the Flints, made me feel right at home (despite my different lifestyle/religious preferences).
I like to think about the way she walked--with a sort of sway. And the way she talked in that whispery voice. I think it's hilarious and sweet that she would only ever leave the house the very same way she entered. It was so logical to her and so confusing to everyone else.
We headed to the cemetery in Kaysville and everyone put a single daisy on her casket before it was lowered in to the ground. It was a sunny, warm day in almost springtime--her favorite time of year!
I never avoided black cats or ladders the way Grandma Jackson did. In fact, this day really never meant anything to me…until now. Now I will think about her.
2 comments:
This is beautiful crystal I loved reading it. Thank you so much. I love her so much :)
I do too! This was a much more positive post than the other one I was considering, eh? haha
Anyway, it felt good.
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