Diaries I Read:
Here is the final chapter of my New York saga. Tuesday.
We got up early and got dressed. I haven�t yet commented on the weather. It was COLD! I mean really, really cold. Like 9 degrees. I had been hearing the reports from my mom for weeks � 5 degrees, 18 degrees � and I knew it was cold. But you can�t really appreciate how cold that is until you�re in it.
And I, being a California girl who gets chilled sitting in an air-conditioned restaurant, am not wired for that kind of cold. My blood is thin. It was just freezing.
And our rented minivan had the absolute worst heating system imaginable. First, it took about 10 minutes to warm up at all, so we�d sit in the back seat with our teeth chattering and our breath visible. And during that first 10 minutes, if you turned the fan on, it blew out icy arctic winds on you. Then, all of a sudden, the heat would kick in and within a couple of minutes somebody would be hot. But somebody else would still be cold. The heater was very inconsistent. We determined early on that the right side of the car was the warmer side. Thus my brother � who at one point, complaining that we needed to turn down the heat, claimed �I am so hot that if I stepped out of this car right now, I�d have icicles hanging from my armpits!� � got placed permanently on the left-hand side of the car.
Anyway, it was cold. And the burial on Tuesday was to be held outside, obviously. So I put on long johns under my nice slacks and an undershirt under my wool sweater, which all went under my wool jacket.
And still, when we arrived at the cemetery and I took a seat on that metal chair, I thought I was going to literally freeze my butt off.
But I need to back up a little.
Before heading to the cemetery, we all met at Rose�s (my granddad�s) house. I really could have done without returning to that house. It was just too full of memories, especially those of my most recent visit in September, when I spent several afternoons sitting across from my granddad talking. It was really hard to see the chair, where he had sat, empty. I really had to fight from getting choked up. At this point in the trip, I had cried enough. I was tired of being sad. I didn�t want to cry anymore. I was looking forward to the burial being a special occasion to really honor my granddad, and I just didn�t want to cry anymore.
Of course, all of Rose�s gang was there, and I pretty much ignored them. I really didn�t have good feelings about all of these people there. And although I felt bad for Rose, I had never really liked her and I wasn�t planning on starting now.
Then we got into the cars and started driving toward the cemetery. It was the official funeral procession thing, where everyone turns on their headlights and the other cars are supposed to let the whole procession pass. The strange thing about it was, there we were following the hearse, and through its window I could see my granddad�s casket draped in the American flag, and on the other side of the road other cars were passing us, filled with people just going about their everyday business. I was there, following my granddad�s casket for his burial, and the rest of the world was going to the grocery store, taking their kids to daycare, meeting a friend for brunch. I guess it�s not a novel concept � there are a million people in the world going through a million different experiences and emotions at the same time. It just struck me strongly at that moment.
The cemetery was beautiful. It�s the Saratoga National Cemetery, and it�s fairly new. It was covered in snow that looked like it had never been touched. The trees were bare, but they were planted in neat little rows. The headstones were placed regularly, and they were all the same (except for the names and dates, obviously). The sky was blue and it was a crystal-clear day. It looked like a postcard. It was especially lovely from the inside of a heated car.
When we got there, the service started almost immediately. My mom and dad sat with Rose in the first row on the left, and I sat with my brother and my great-uncle in the front row on the right. There were military volunteers in full uniform standing beside the casket.
The minister got up and said a few words, and the only thing I remember exactly is that he said something about how my granddad had �finished the race.� That made me smile. I thought that was a good way to look at it. Especially since I�ve run several races, including very long marathons, I can identify with the feeling of finishing a race. You feel tired, but you feel proud. Even though there were some tough spots along the way, you did it, and that�s what matters. You feel good. And that�s what I thought about my granddad: he ran a good race. He should be proud. He feels good now.
Then, in the distance a bit where we couldn�t see them, they did the 21-gun salute. Three rounds. It was loud. It echoed in the empty cemetery. Each one made me jump a bit. When the last shot sounded, it sounded very final. It hit me. This was it. This was goodbye.
After that, the uniformed officers took the flag that was over the casket by each end and marched forward a step or two, holding it level with the ground. Then, in a quick movement, they turned it so it was stretched out in front of everyone. It was just a quick moment, a flash of the full red, white, and blue flag. I�ll never forget that moment.
Then they started folding it, very methodically and very neatly. When they were finished, they passed it to another officer, who marched up to stand in front of Rose. He told her that this was a gift from the President of the United States, and that he was proud to present it to her in honor of my granddad, who had served his country proudly.
It was like something out of a movie. Except it wasn�t. It was real. This was my granddad they were talking about.
And then, the most unexpected, most incredible thing happened. Rose stood up, with the flag in her arms, and she turned and walked toward us. She handed the flag to my brother, telling him that my granddad would have wanted him to have it.
I sat there, stunned, with tears rolling down my face. I felt so grateful and so horrible at the same time. Grateful because that flag was something very special, and I had wanted us to have it. And horrible because I had harbored such bitterness for this woman and had begrudged her having that flag. And she had just performed a very selfless, very loving act toward my family.
Before I knew it, they were playing TAPS. That�s a very sad song anytime you hear it. But it was such an honor to my granddad that I wasn�t sad. I was happy that this day had been dedicated to him. He would have been pleased. He would have been proud.
I was almost thankful that it was so cold because nobody really stuck around long after the service ended. Everyone said their goodbyes quickly and then headed to their cars. We went to the American Legion, where my granddad had been a member for decades. Someone (the wives of the other members?) had prepared lots of food, and we all ate and chatted. I got to know a lot of my mom�s cousins better, and it was generally a good time. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. It wasn�t a sad day. My granddad would have preferred that so much to the sobbing hysterics of Sunday�s wake.
Once that was over, my mom and I went shopping at one of our favorite stores, and then we met the boys at the bowling alley and played a game. It seemed an appropriate thing to do on that day, since my granddad had been an avid bowler at one time. We were able to forget about everything for a while and just enjoy being a family together. I know my granddad was smiling in Heaven.
So that�s it. The next day we had to get up at 4:30 am (1:30 am California time) to get to the airport to catch our flight. The flight was uneventful. And then we were home.
So it�s over. I definitely felt closure. I know I�ll still have times when I feel sad and I miss him, but I feel good about how I said goodbye.
XXX
I�m having my knee surgery tomorrow, so I�ll be gone for a few days. Talk to you again next week.
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