What a day...I believe today's events have made it to be one of the most excellent memorial days in the history of memorials.
My mother called me early in the morning on Saturday, August 20th to tell me that Grandpa had died. He had been battling various forms of cancer for quite a while, so it was expected. I believe that this is why the memorial service was such a joyous occasional rather than a painful one. He was in such pain, and he is truly in a better place...wherever he may be!
She also told me that Grandpa had died in his sleep at the hospital, so peacefully. Grammy had been sleeping in a recliner in his hospital room (he was there for treatment), and found that Grandpa was not breathing. As she was waiting for the doctor to come to his room and pronounce him dead, she decided to go ahead and call my Uncle, who is the only son. She selected his phone number from the list of "recently dialed" on her cell phone and as the call recipient answered the phone (at about 5:30 AM, I might add), she said, "You're daddy's gone."
The man on the opposite end of the line was confused. He said, "What? Excuse me?"
"Billy-Bob*, you're daddy's passed away."
"I'm sorry, but you've got the wrong phone number," the gentleman said, "but I am so sorry for your loss!"
Woops.
My father and brother picked me up from the airport in Little Rock yesterday, and we continued on to Stuttgart, Arkansas. During this trip, my dad informed me that my younger cousin had been arrested the same night Grandpa died and was charged with "minor in possession." The cops had busted a party at which many teenagers were drinking, and had ordered the children who had been drinking to go to one part of the room, and the other non-drinkers to remain on the opposite side of the room (don't know how they could have escaped that one). She and about 40 other members of the Dewitt/Stuttgart youth were hauled off to the local police station where they were locked in a cell (with their phones for maximum texting opportunities). Just so you know, she is at large.
When we arrived at Grammy's home, everyone seemed to be doing well. They had managed to arrange a memorial service for the following morning (today). My Aunt had taken control of the works, had enslaved her husband in the kitchen (he's a great cook, so I don't complain), and had taken on my mother as her personal assistant. All in all, they got it done, and weren't stressing out about anything. We went to the church to do some setting-up and so I could rehearse a piece I was to perform at the end of the service (No. 17 from Rose's 32 Etudes). If you couldn't guess, classical music is not a common occurrence in this part of the world. The Etude is a very lovely, adagio art etude--my favorite, in fact. My few dress rehearsal attendees became a bit weepy but agreed that the piece was perfect. I didn't have the strength to perform for my paternal grandfather's funeral due to the fact that he was a clarinetist, and we had a special connection because of that. I was very happy that I could do that for Grandpa.
The next morning, we headed to the cemetery for a quick graveside service. Before the service started, we all gathered around the grave site. Included in our group was my immediate family, my mother's siblings and their immediate families, my grandmother, my grandfather's sisters, and my grandfather's mother (my 103-year-old great grandmother!). Naturally, Great Grandmother, who was sitting right next to the grave, was not entirely sure as to where she was or what she was doing. So, one of my great aunts (the one who takes care of her), hollered, "We're at Joe's service," to which Great Grandma replied, "Is Joe Henry sick?"
My great aunt continued to say, "No, we are at Joe Henry's funeral service."
"Joe Henry's sick? Didn't he have a bad case of the mumps? Is he coming over later?"
"No, Mamma. He's not coming over anymore!," concluded my great aunt.
"How old is he now? 58?," Great Grandmother asked Grammy.
"No, he's 78," replied Grammy.
"I must have been OLD when I had him! How much older am I than you?," replied Great Grandmother.
"Well, you're about 30 years older than me," replied Grammy.
And then, as my other great aunt failed to hold an umbrella to shade the elderly lady, the service began.
After the graveside service, we headed to the church for a short memorial service. The flower arrangements were beautiful and even included some tasteful accents of rice, deer antlers, and pheasant feathers (Grandpa's career was rice farming, and his favorite hobby was hunting). I performed at the end of the service, and it went well. I feel like I played well, and it was well received.
During the postlude, we family members were led to the fellowship hall to receive all of the mourners. Once again, Great Grandmother had found herself confused. August is a popular month for birthdays as it includes Grammy's, Grandpa's, and Great Grandma's birthdays. Even though we had just concluded Grandpa's memorial service, she was convinced that all of these people were gathered at the church for her 103rd Birthday Party! She exclaimed, "Where's the cake?!" Once again, my Great Aunt stepped in to delicately clear up the confusion.
We must have greeted 200 people at the reception. Everyone was reminiscing about and celebrating his life. I also learned that I do, in fact, need to be careful if I am ever interested in dating someone from South East Arkansas because there is a very good chance that we are related and will have no idea.
Yes, it is sad that my Grandpa died, but I have loved seeing my family and meeting all of the people who loved him. This is the way funerals should be--a celebration of a person's life with a healthy dose of dysfunctional moments, not a depressing parade of sobbing people.
( btw, * = fake name)
