Goodnight, My Someone

Almost three weeks ago, my grandmother died. Her name was Eleanor and she was...well, she was awesome. I spent two weeks in California from the day she died until three days after we buried her.

I flew on New Year's Day, panicky with the thought she might be gone before i got there. I sat next to a man who lost his only brother to a car accident on Christmas Eve and on the other side, a young man who lost his grandfather to cephalitis on New Year's Eve. What a trio we were. We talked, we read and we slept. I awoke, just before we descended, hoping it wasn't too late.

My little sisters were there to greet me, my parents arriving minutes later. I already knew by then, my sister Hannah breaking the news when I asked and when my dad arrived with my stepmom, I cried. We arrived at the La Loma house and upon walking into the living room, walls awash in peach and surfaces gilded with Christmas decorations, I cried again. Her presence was everywhere I looked, yet her voice and smile were glaringly absent.

In the kitchen with my cousins, we ate food from plastic containers brought to us by family friends, we drank wine out of Christmas themed glasses Grandma had set out earlier in the month and we laughed and argued and cried...a lot. For the next two weeks, there were hugs and handshakes, thoughtful silences and strained conversations. We snipped paper, read sentimental poems, stamped angels and made fun of each others' photos from the eighties...it was a bad decade for all of us.

We sorted through endless arrays of cosmetics and costume jewelry, each time feeling our throats tighten with every glittery tidbit flashing in the light or her perfume filling the air from an open drawer. We found small mementos to take home and treasure: metallic and bejeweled bracelets, purple scarves, lavender slippers, ceramic angels, a felted red hat. We joked and poked fun at each other...a lot. Hugged some more, cried some more, ate some more. We sang, we hummed, we cried, we laughed and yes, we cried some more. We shopped for purple outfits, ties and scarves, because she would not have wanted us to wear black to her funeral. No way.

Eventually, the flowers were picked, the hall was booked, the priest confirmed for the service, the photos were placed, the memories written down, the tables set, the programs printed, the deep purple sequined dress lovingly placed by our hands on to her body. Her hair was curled, her make-up applied with care, her rings slipped onto her beautiful hands; hands that I still see in my mind and on those of my youngest child. We sang to her, we cried, we laughed over her stories and then we cried some more.

Days later, we watched our grandfather, her husband of sixty four years, nearly collapse with grief upon seeing her body at the viewing. We hovered nervously, a box of tissue on the only seat next to him that no one dared to move or replace with our selves. Eventually, each child, grandchild and friend, quietly hugged or kissed him, squeezed his shoulder, whispered a word of comfort and love. We all knew the grief he felt...or at least a shadow of it. Soon, surrounded by children and grandchildren, we chatted to each other and to him, slowly bringing his attention to the living, if only for a brief time. We read the rosary, thanked friends, hugged each other, cried and went back to our beds to reflect.

Two days later, in front of the church where she and Grandpa were married 64 years before, her grandsons both by blood and marriage, carried her coffin up the steps, down the aisle of the sanctuary and to the front of the church. Her great-grandchildren passed out purple ribbons with golden angels and programs with her picture. We cried, we sang, we read, we sang, we cried and we laughed. We remembered her love of music, her love of family and friends, her love of God and her love for her husband. We took photos, we ate food, we sang and listened to song. We ate more, we hugged more, we cried and we laughed.

Grandma would have loved it. Every single bit...and I bet she was sorry to miss it.

Eventually, each of us slipped quietly back to our lives, to continue with living and laughing, loving and crying. Grandma lived life with gusto and warmth. She left us gifts of music and song, a smile that is repeated in every generation, a love for stories and the telling of them. She reminded us that a single life is extraordinary in the ordinary-ness of it. She will be sorely missed, everyday.

Eleanor Elizabeth Gunn Gustavson
Born September 14, 1920
Died December 31, 2008