I�m back. I can�t believe it�s been a whole week. I feel like I�ve been in some sort of twilight zone time warp. It�s weird.

It�s been a long week. I�m exhausted.

So, Thursday morning I got the call. I came into work around 12:30, tied up some loose ends, and then asked if I could leave. I was out of here by 3:00. There was really no reason for me to be here at work.

Before I went home, I decided to stop by Target to pick up a few things for the trip. I did that, and then I started wandering around, and I found three little pictures that I liked for our master bathroom. Then I found a trash can, a little shelf, and a basket that I also liked for the master bathroom. And they were on SALE! So I bought them.

When I got home, I talked to my mom and brother, who suggested that we fly to New York on Saturday instead of Friday since the memorial services weren�t until Sunday. I went along with it only under the agreement with B that I still wasn�t going in to work on Friday (since I had already told my boss we were leaving Friday and I wasn�t in any mood to sit around the office. I also felt somehow entitled to Friday off since I was losing out on what would otherwise have been a fun three-day weekend, what with the coming Monday off for President�s Day.)

I then set to work decorating my master bathroom. Yes, it seemed odd in light of the circumstances. But I guess it was my way of dealing with it at the time. And our bathroom looks much better now.

On Friday I slept in, did some more decorating, cleaned the house (because I hate coming home from a trip to a messy home), made arrangements with the pet sitters, and went shopping with B for hardwood floors (a very pricey dream of ours we�re hoping to make reality in the next few months).

Saturday we got on a plane in Ontario, flew to Las Vegas, had lunch, got onto another plane, and flew to Albany, New York. But that makes it sound too easy; I need to elaborate. We flew on Southwest Airlines from Ontario to Las Vegas to Albany. That means no food (except peanuts and a little �snack pack� of cookies and cheese crackers � not on the WW plan) and no movies. That means very small seats. That means over six hours in the middle seat between B and my brother, who both hogged the arm rests. That means arriving in New York at 11:30 pm Eastern time. You get the picture.

We checked into our hotel and went to sleep.

The next morning, we went out for breakfast. I was still trying hard to stick to the diet, but there really weren�t many good choices available. So my mom and I ordered an omelet to split. I figured that was better than eating the whole thing myself, even though I could have easily done so. Then we went back to the hotel to change before heading to the service.

Now I have to back up a bit. I�ve already told you about Rose, my granddad�s wife. Things were never the same once they got married. She was just unpleasant to be around. It�s like she tried to get in between my granddad and us. She has a very brash way of speaking, like she�s always snapping at you.

And frankly, to be brash myself, she was white trash. She was just tacky. I don�t know how to explain it. She was just different, and she didn�t seem to be good enough for my granddad. But because we loved him, we accepted her.

Anyway, the moment we landed in New York, my mom started filling us in on everything that had been going on during the last few days. Apparently as soon as my granddad passed away, Rose�s family started flooding in, including a whole crew of �grandchildren.�

Just to set things straight, my grandfather has two grandchildren: 1) me, 2) my brother. He had one daughter; she had two children. Therefore he has two grandchildren. Count them: one, two. Period.

But apparently all of these �grandchildren� (Rose�s grandchildren) all started appearing, crying and carrying on about their �grandpa� dying. From my mom�s reports, Rose�s whole family � sisters, daughters, grandchildren, and random men (NOT husbands) � were white trash � fat, pregnant, toothless, etc. I�m not exaggerating. Toothless.

So, back to Sunday, the day of the memorial service. When I arrived, I was already on edge about Rose�s family. It really bugged me that they were claiming to be his children and grandchildren when clearly they were not. But I had promised to be on my best behavior since that�s what my granddad would have wanted.

The wake was open casket. I was not in favor of this, nor was my mom. But I guess Rose had put her foot down and insisted that it would be open casket. I told myself that I just wouldn�t look, but as soon as I walked into the room I realized that this wouldn�t be an option because of the way the room was set up and because of the way his body was set up high in the casket.

So I took a deep breath and walked up to look. What I saw absolutely stunned me. I honestly thought that we must be in the wrong room. The person that was lying in that casket did not resemble my granddad in the least. I had known that he would probably look different, that he had lost weight due to the cancer, that the mortician would not have been able to preserve his appearance exactly, but I could not find anything in the face that looked remotely like my granddad.

I had been holding it together pretty well until that point, but seeing that person, who clearly wasn�t my granddad, lying there really freaked me out, and I started to lose my composure. But as the day wore on (and on and on), I came to terms with the body lying at the front of the room. No, it didn�t look like my granddad. And it wasn�t my granddad. It was an empty, dead shell that used to hold my granddad. But my granddad was gone. And I think it actually made it easier that it didn�t look anything like him; that way I could look and it didn�t bother me so much.

So, the wake started at 2:00. We had arrived at 1:30. Shortly after we arrived, all of the other �family� started filing in. And man, did they make a scene. Rose sat there at the casket just sobbing and sobbing and sobbing. I didn�t think she was ever going to stop crying. I�m really not trying to trivialize her grief. It was sincere. I can�t imagine what it would be like to lose your husband. But the rest of them � they carried on like you wouldn�t believe. Wailing and crying and just making a big show of it. I couldn�t help but think that they were putting on a big act. Yes, I�m sure they were sad. And I�ll even grant that perhaps he played a father or grandfather figure in their lives. But this was not a tragic or unexpected accident. He was 80 years old. He had cancer. This had been coming for a while. They couldn�t have been as shocked as they acted. I was really irritated by all of this.

(And they WERE white trash. They all had their dentures in, so that helped. But they just looked ragged. One of Rose�s sisters was wearing sweats. One of the �grandsons� was wearing a terribly ill-fitting suit that he�d gotten at the Salvation Army the day before. One of the pregnant [19-year-old] �granddaughters� was wearing a letterman�s jacket that matched the one her boyfriend was wearing. I know I sound like a snob. It was just inappropriate for a wake.)

Then the rest of the people started filing in. There were cousins and friends and co-workers and siblings. I was introduced to one person after another. Some I had met before, others were complete strangers. Everyone was very nice.

After what felt like hours, I looked at my watch � 2:30. 2:30! It had only been a half hour! The wake was scheduled from 2:00 to 6:00, to be followed by the memorial service. I knew I was in for a long ordeal.

Time literally crawled for the next several hours. Every time I checked my watch, thinking that an hour had passed, it had only been 15 minutes. Plus that, I was starving. Remember, I had eaten half an omelet and had passed up most of my potatoes in the name of WW at 10:00 in the morning. Now it was 3:00, 4:00, 5:00, and I thought I might pass out.

At 5:00, B, my brother, and I broke down and asked if we could jet out for a few minutes to grab something to eat before the service started. We got the OK and headed to a diner called Bubbles Restaurant. WW went out the window and I ordered a cheeseburger. And fries. And because they weren�t cooking it fast enough, I ordered a cup of soup to tide me over until the meal came. We also ordered two burgers for my parents, who skipped out of the wake long enough to eat inside the van in the parking lot. I honestly don�t think I would have made it through the rest of the service if I hadn�t had that burger.

When we got back, we only had to endure a bit more of the meetings and greetings and I�m-sorry-for-your-loss-es and then it was time for the service to start. I need to back up again and say that my mom had been handling herself remarkably well throughout this whole thing. While Rose and her posse sobbed, my mom was relatively composed. Of course, she cried a little off and on throughout the day, but she held herself together much better than I had imagined she would.

The minister said a few words and prayers, and then it was time for people to get up and say a few words about my granddad. First, my granddad�s brother spoke. He�s one of just three siblings left of 11 children. He�s attached to an oxygen tank, but he got up there in front of everyone to honor his brother. He said he cut it short because he couldn�t get through what he�d been planning to say. Basically, he named all of their brothers and sisters who had gone before them, which got everyone choked up. Then he talked about how my granddad had graduated from high school and was almost immediately sent to war. He said that my granddad had fought for our country so that we�d never have to have another war. He commented on the unfortunate fact that it hasn�t quite worked out that way.

Then my mom got up to speak. I would have been willing to bet that she wouldn�t be able to get through it, and that my dad would have to read it for her, but she was full of surprises that day. She did it. This is what she said:

�For those of you who don�t know me, I am Joe�s daughter, S. For all my life, whenever I meet people from this area, people identify me as, �You must be Joe M�s daughter� or �That�s Joe�s daughter� � seldom S, but that was just fine.

I love my dad. He was my encourager, my foundation, and my hero. He was a man before his time. He didn�t have other men to follow who were in his same situation of raising a daughter on his own, so he paved the path for others.

He devoted such unbelievable time to me � from skating at Guptills, stockcar races at Lebonan Valley or Fonda, dancing lessons, and baton twirling competitions. He never even missed a basketball game at which I was only a cheerleader. He was always there � year after year. He set a high standard but always stood behind me to provide any help I needed.

A dear friend of mine wrote to me last week and made me aware that I could comprehend the love of our heavenly Father because I have known the unequivocal faithfulness, understanding, and love of my earthly father, whose faithful attentiveness guided me throughout my childhood and adolescence.

Rose gave me a Father�s Day card that I had given to my dad when I was probably around nine or 10. It reads,

�You seldom hear me say it, Dad,

But you can bet it�s true,

I think I�m mighty lucky

To have a Dad like you.�

I had signed it �Lucky S.� And I am.

I know he�s with Jesus now and I can only say �Lucky Jesus to have this wonderful man back in his arms.��

Then it was my turn. This was the moment I had been dreading all day. Throughout the day, when I was holding my emotions in check, all I had to do was think about the eulogy I was going to give and I�d start tearing up. I don�t know why; I can�t explain it. I just knew it was going to be hard, but I really wanted to get through it. I wanted to say the words for myself and not have somebody read them for me.

So I got up there and I started. At first, I got really choked up. I had to pause a couple of times and take some deep breaths to try to pull myself together. It wasn�t looking good. I was really losing it. Then my dad came up and stood beside me. Maybe it was having his support, or maybe it was knowing that he�d have to finish for me if I couldn�t get through it, but at that point I regained my composure and I was able to finish. Here�s what I said (you may recognize some of it from earlier entries):

�There are very few people in this world who never hurt you. Even the people you love the most sometimes hurt you with a careless word or overlooked action, and you do the same in return.

But my granddad is one person who I can truthfully say has never hurt me. He never had anything but love for me.

For years, my granddad drove a school bus. I remember being envious of those other children who got to see my granddad every day. I wondered if they knew he had a granddaughter and grandson in California. My granddad used to tell stories about the kids on the bus and the bad things they�d do, and how he�d yell at them. He was proud of the fact that many of the kids were afraid of him and thought he was mean. I couldn�t imagine my granddad yelling at anyone. I couldn�t imagine anyone thinking he was mean. To me, he was the sweetest, kindest, most gentle man in the world.

Many of the memories I have of my granddad are Christmas memories. When I was little, my granddad was always a part of Christmas. Every year, he�d make the long trip from New York to California to stay with us for a week or two. My granddad was pretty much synonymous with Christmas � Christmas wasn�t Christmas without him.

I guess I don�t remember many specific details about the time he spent with us at Christmas. It�s more like a general theme, a common thread that runs through all of my Christmas memories. He was always there. He was just my granddad � a big, jolly man who always had a smile on his face for me.

Here are some other memories I have of my granddad:

The days we spent visiting him on his farm. He had chickens and turkeys and goats and all kinds of creatures for us to feed and run around with. He also had this great tractor. I would climb up onto the tractor with him and we�d mow the giant lawn together. It was an adventure with granddad.

Whenever he�d come for a visit, we�d pick him up at the airport, and he always wore a hat. I could pick him out from the crowd as we anxiously waited for him to get off the plane because of his hat.

He wore plaid pajamas to bed.

I got a birthday card from him every year, always with a gift inside. He always remembered.

He gave me silver dollars.

He told me that meatballs would give me big muscles.

He took me to bowling lessons.

He taught me to never let an American flag touch the ground.

He�d fall asleep in front of the TV but claim he was only �checking for cracks in his eyelids.�

I don�t know that much about my granddad as a young man, but I know he was special. I know he was an incredible father who raised an amazing daughter. My mom is a wonderful, generous person with a huge heart and love for everyone around her. My mom is the best gift my granddad could give to me � and the rest of the world.

My granddad never uttered a harsh word to me. He never gave me a disapproving look. The world with my granddad in it was filled with love.

There is nothing � absolutely nothing � negative to say about my granddad. To me, he is the most perfect, gentle, loving man I know. I don�t care if that perfection is just an illusion in a na�ve granddaughter�s heart. It�s an illusion I care to keep.

I love you, Granddad, and I miss you.�

When I sat back down, I couldn�t stop shaking. Maybe it was the relief that it was over. Maybe it was the sheer emotion of it all. But my whole body was just trembling, and it wouldn�t stop. My mom said the same thing happened to her.

Many people said that my words about my granddad had been beautiful. To be perfectly honest, I wasn�t all that satisfied with them. As a person who entertains the notion of being a writer of some sorts, I guess I wanted to have something more profound to say. But I hadn�t had the time or the energy to really compose something the way I would have liked to. I had basically thrown my thoughts together quickly and haphazardly. And because I couldn�t think of any earth-shattering remarks, I had just jotted down the truth. No embellishments, nothing fancy. I don�t know if they were just being kind by saying they liked what I said, but I appreciated it anyway. The funeral director even told me that it was one of the best he�d heard and the only time he�d ever heard a grandchild speak through a grandchild�s eyes about their grandparent. That meant a lot.

Then everyone filed back through and paid their final respects to the body that wasn�t my granddad. Again, Rose�s family sobbed and carried on, and again I was irritated. I looked at the body once more, but it still wasn�t my granddad. I had already said goodbye.

We got back to the hotel, ordered pizza, picked up some beer, and tried to unwind. As exhausted and emotionally spent as I was at the end of the day, I had a hard time sleeping. Images of that body in the casket kept flashing through my mind, coupled with words from my eulogy, and it was a very restless night.

I�ll continue this tomorrow.

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Working at home - Wednesday, Nov. 17, 2004

Toronto - Tuesday, Nov. 16, 2004

On the way to Toronto... - Tuesday, Nov. 09, 2004

A Good Day - Monday, Nov. 08, 2004

Another letter - Thursday, Nov. 04, 2004