The funeral

Everything yesterday wasn't, today was. There was getting up early and having company for breakfast. There was a mass full of nice, comforting things said and done. There was my first coffee table.

I think I found some peace.

Yes, some people cried, but there was a sense of togetherness that I missed yesterday. I don't understand why the two services were so different. Do they serve different purposes?

Today was better than yesterday. There was a bit of laughter and warmth, which made the day more palatable.

I couldn't walk very well with my right foot cramped up, for example. There was a white stain on my black dress. A final addage to the service confused the grandchildren. There were a few misreads. The priest gave his own interpretation of the last chunk of the service, confusing a handful of people a bit. One of my cousins wore his Vans under his Sunday best. Another had her hair parted any which way. Someone learning to drive effectively blocked about a dozen cars trying to get to the cemetery. I spent an inappropriate amount of time praying my hayfever wouldn't make me sneeze on the Host. A few cousins worried about the exams they were facing. Nobody ate the breadrolls with filet américain. Someone needed to be reminded where the Middle East was located.

But rather than make me angry, it reminded me that everyone was human and fallible. My 'little' cousins are growing up, but they stay themselves. I'm not as grown-up as I'd like to be. The adults don't even seem to be as grown-up as they'd like to be.

I realised for what seemed like the first time that my parents are children, too.

It struck me during the service, when the booklet said 'a few words from the children', and I wondered why no one had mentioned this to me. It took me moments to realise they meant my grandmother's children. My aunts and uncles, my parents, they were all children once. I even thought about my great-grandmother, my grandmother's mother, who once must have held the woman who held her hand above my head at the font with all the fierce love and protection mothers are capable of.

It's sad in a good way that I took this all for granted. I know I am blessed. I know I have a safe haven, a home, no matter what shenanigans I get up to. I am loved, and to be aware of it is a wonderful feeling.