Continued Outpouring

I went to a funeral today. My great aunt Penelope Millican left this vibratory plane on the eighth of this month and my existence is slightly poorer for it. I did not know Peppy well. I only met her a few times. I wish she was my Grandmother, though. She was a radiant, authentic person. I was surprised to find myself moved to tears during the graveside service (a state of emotion to which her sister, my grandmother, could not be moved). In a flash, I was back at my maternal Grandma's funeral, mourning all over again for her exit from my life.

You see, I miss my Grandma. My glamorous aunt Nell said today that, "every child needs somebody for whom they can do no wrong." For her, that was my Great-Grandfather Tom. For me, it was my darling, precious Grandma. I don't pretend to have known her well, and I don't believe that she ever looked too deeply into my character, but she accepted me just the way I am. I never needed to be better, nicer, or different in any way for her; there were no expectations, only lunch and bridge together on Wednesdays.

During Peppy's service, my second cousin Elizabeth--another delightful person, by the way--read a passage to the effect that all of our dead loved ones were waiting for us in the next room. I don't happen to believe in an afterlife, but it is tempting to think of my Grandma waiting for me in some plane of being with open arms, having observed the course my life has taken with no expurgation whatsoever. No questions, just that same pert mouth outlined in that same blinding shade of hot pink and the warmest, longest hug in the history of existence.