Recognizing That This Is The Last Time

When you’re little, there are birthdays and anniversaries and holidays, but then people grow up, drift, and move away. Suddenly, it’s been ten years since you’ve clapped eyes on them. That’s where the big celebrations like marriages and funerals come in.

I understood the concept of funerals getting everyone near and dear together to help the family grieve, but what I didn’t understand, prior to my grandmother’s death was that this is the last party that is just for her. It’s the last party where you can talk all about her without seeming like a crazy person or stuck in the past. It’s the last time that you can demand of everyone you know to share a memory.

My sister and I always joke that our Dad, Aunt and Uncles always give hour long speeches at every family function. But instead of preparing to grin and bear my way through pages upon pages of dry retold family stories and hokey Dad-jokes, on the day of, I found myself wishing for more. Because this was the last time; there would be no more birthday celebrations with Grandma holding court in a funny birthday hat while her children reminisced behind a podium, and her grandchildren not so patiently listened. This was the last of the protracted speeches about my grandmother’s thriftiness. As my oldest Uncle stepped down and finished his speech, I longed to hear more.

Luckily, my cousin had challenged her Dad to share some untold stories about our beloved matriarch. My Aunt did the same- I learned that my grandmother had been a secretary when she was younger. I grabbed hold of these small new pearls of information about my grandma and held them close, turning them over in my mind as they revealed previously unknown facets of the woman I loved and admired so much. My own story was deemed inappropriate for the funeral, so I sang instead.

It was a feat for me to perform- I’ve lived several lives since the time when I pretended to be a musician and aquamarine pleather pants were a staple of my wardrobe. It took all of my focus to stand up and follow along with the music. The song ended and I was swept away in a deluge of grief.

I was crying in earnest when I returned to my seat. My cousin Candy reached over and held me in a hug, from behind I felt another cousin squeeze my shoulder. In that moment, I was transported to all of the times that my little cousins and I crouched underneath my grandmother’s pool table, hiding during a family game of sardines. I thought about how magical it was that we had all those memories together, that Grandma was the linchpin of it all. In that brief group embrace was the love of decades.

My entire life, I have lived in a big family. And for my entire life, my Grandma loved and gathered all of us together, she accepted us for who we were and that in turn fostered a culture of tolerance and support in my family. As a weirdo who has always marched to the beat of my own drum, I have depended on this unconditional love for the confidence to be myself.

Through my sadness, I marveled at what an incredible achievement it is to have a person’s life be a legacy of love and acceptance. That no matter what, our family had this one last time together to appreciate what an incredible woman my grandmother was. Then I sat and listened to who my Grandma was to each of my cousins; sports fan, role model, drill sergeant. All the while, I wished for one more story, one more prayer, one more song to remember and celebrate her life, because this was the last time.

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4 thoughts on “Recognizing That This Is The Last Time

  1. This is beautifully written and incredibly sad. I am so sorry you are having to go through such grief. I know what you mean. My father died at the ridiculously young age of 60 with no warning whatsoever. He and I were very close in a non-verbal, non-touchy-feely sort of way. We were a lot alike both physically and intellectually and in our interests, humour etc. We also disagreed a lot. When he died, I was coping with long-term disability, financial difficulties and bringing up my children. We hadn’t had a proper conversation in ages. It wasn’t long before I realised that I hadn’t just lost my father, but all the potential chats and stories and answers to my many questions. Now, whenever my 87 year old mum tells me any snippets of her life, I reach for a scrap of paper and quickly jot it down. Whenever I realise I don’t know something, I no longer wait, I phone and ask. I am in panic mode. She is the last of the older generation of my family and her memory is fading. I need to get as much from her as I can. And I have an obsession with writing my own history down. But I’m not sure any of my descendants will be that interested!
    It was the funeral of my 103 year old friend last week. I looked forward to hearing all the stories from her life, that I didn’t know. Unfortunately, the man who conducted the service kept mixing her up with her daughter of the same name and at one point had her going to Australia 4 years ago – she would have been 99! I thought, am I in a time warp or something, how did I miss her going to Australia 😄 Sending virtual hugs 💜

  2. It may have been the last party just for your grandma but her love and tolerance will live on because we all have those memories and the stories will be present whenever members of the family are together. Your song and your words are a wonderful tribute.

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