Last Tuesday, my 86 year old grandma passed away. It had been a hard year for her and the family. She had suffered a stroke on Christmas Day, and since then had not rebounded like she had done in the past. She broke some of her ribs when she fell during the stroke (she fell down the stairs). A few weeks later, she fell again (possibly stroke-related) and broke her wrist. She suffered a long case of pneumonia, as well as kidney failure and other health issues. We knew it was coming, but it was still a very sad event.
Her wake was Thursday and the funeral was on Friday, at the church where she grew up. As with my grandpa's funeral, we were able to drive the funeral procession past the house where she spent 54 years married to my grandfather, before his passing in 2006.
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| My wedding day in 2004. You wouldn't know from this picture, but Grandpa had Alzheimer's, and he was unable to come to my wedding. He stayed home with a nurse so Grandma could go. Our photographer was so great when we asked him to stop by the house so I could get some pictures with my grandparents together. Grandma had dressed him in his suit coat and everything. He knew me at that time, but always had trouble knowing Keith. Side note - my sister is pregnant in this picture. ;) |
At the funeral Mass, the priest talked about Gigi's love of
rhubarb. It was very sweet to hear him talk about it. He handed out a
holy card that had some flowers at the bottom. When he had presented the cards
to the grade school children last Easter, one of the kids asked what those
flowers were. Another child pipped up and said: Rhubarb! The priest
remembered that, and thought it was appropriate to hand out the cards at the
funeral in memory of a woman who loved to grow and bake with her rhubarb. There
was a large garden in the backyard that always had a ton of rhubarb.
Ironically, the day before, as I was home alone getting
ready for the wake, I noticed a car pull up and park in front of our
house. An elderly man got out, smoothing his shirt as he walked slowly up
our driveway and knocked on the door. He introduced himself and said that he
noticed we had a large patch of rhubarb growing on the side of our garage. (It
was there when we moved in, yet other than eat a few stalks each spring, I
don't do anything with it - never had too - Gigi always did the baking!)
He asked if I would mind if he took some.
Of course not, I said. Help yourself.
In the six years that we have lived in our house, no one has
ever came asking about our rhubarb.
I can't help but think it was a sign from Gigi,
letting us know she is okay up in Heaven,
finally dancing again with Grandpa.
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