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Wednesday, June 17, 2009

She looked like a marshmallow in her white kitchen clothes.

Today I am wearing my Grandma Fluff's plastic, pink pearls. Before she died, she let me go through her jewelry (most of it just costume stuff) and I selected a matching necklace and bracelet from her collection.

In addition to the play things, I was also given her sister's wedding rings. They're just a little bit too big for me unless I wear them on my middle finger on a warm day. But I still love having them. I don't have a lot of family, so when I have mementos, I really appreciate them.

One thing about Grandma Fluff that I love to remember is how she used to call me "Libby." And there was that one time we were swimming in the neighbor's pool and I wandered into the woods and when she finally found me she made me sit outside and watch all the other kids have fun. She had a mini slot machine in her kitchen that I used to play with. And her house was full of teddy bears and duck figurines.

Grandma Fluff died my senior year of high school. Her funeral was on the day that I was scheduled to give my final senior project presentation. My family drove from Maine to Connecticut for the services. My older brother got a last-minute flight from Utah. I was supposed to sing at the funeral but it was open casket and I just cried up there in front of everybody. My mom got up from her seat and tried to sing with me.

I hope that even though I couldn't get through the song my grandma wanted sung, that she still appreciated the effort.

3 comments:

  1. Such a sweet post. I have some of my grandmother's jewelry as well. Even though a lot of it is costume jewelry and the earrings are clip ons, they still mean a lot to me.

    I am sure your grandma knew how much you loved her when you tried to sing that song.

    Plus, how awesome is it that her name was Grandma Fluff? Come on!

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  2. It is a great nickname, isn't it? Grandparents always seem to get those!

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  3. I was asked to read all the Bible passages at my grandpa's Catholic funeral. In order to get through it without breaking down, I printed off a photo I found online of a smiling pug with goo all over its mouth and kept it at the podium with me. Whenever I thought I'd start crying, I'd glance at the pug. It totally worked... but I kind of felt like a jackass.

    My point? Whether you use a semi-disrespectful tactic to get through it stoically or are honest enough to cry, participating in a grandparent's funeral is always a beautiful (and cathartic) gesture. There is no "wrong" way!

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