Grandamama

My grandma lived to be ninety three and happy. I can't say for sure that she lived to become ninety three, but she did live to be happy.

The last night that I saw her was around Thanksgiving time in 2008. It was a Thanksgiving to be thankful for: I met writers, I met editors, I met my dreams. I also met my grandma. But still, when January came, It was a hard year to feel good about the new, but I suppose all years can be like that. In February 2009 I attended her funeral.

Attendance makes me think of high school roll calls and mandatory attitudes. Maybe that's what scared me about the funeral, everyone acted like it was mandatory, with sincere smiles and apologetic eyes. Everywhere, there was nothing. Nothing that my grandma was at least. The faces in the service looked "who's next" rather than "god bless," and as the pastor spoke I wondered if he knew her at all. Achievements were listed as many. Her contributions to the community numerous. Her personality giving. Yep, they had her cut out like christmas cookies.

My younger brother, on cello, played a version of "On Eagle's Wings" during the service that almost brought me to tears. I hated the song, always have, but it was easier to get emotionally lost in the music than in my relative's memories.

When he was done playing, the service ended and my dad walked up and gave him a big hug. I had walked up behind them, figuring I would be next. My dad turned to me, mid-hug, and asked for me to help get my brother's stuff in the car. My diagphram burned as I picked up an amp way too big for me and started lugging it down the side stairs.

The reception was held in the basement of the church. When I made it downstairs, there was a food line that ran all the way down the hall. I always felt sick watching people eat at these kind of things. It reminded me of a line for hot dogs at the Metrodome.

I sat down as an unknown at a table where I assumed the other unknowns congregated. The table was covered in pastels, with little pastel almonds to match what was about to be my puke. My fellow unknowns were a floral shirt and a Dickie's outfit, a set of fish lips who should have left the mascara at home, and her (what I assumed to be) spawn who sat with a napkin held to her lip.

Fortunately though, it wasn't that awkward. The silence of our table was overshadowed by the one behind ours. I turned my head to see a couple of my uncles with their arms around my younger brother. Behind them, my older brother stood fixated on the wall. Nothing had set in before the pastor started to tap a microphone.

"I'd like to ask anyone to come up and share a few memories and stories they have about Florence." He asked with his biggest pastor smile, the kind Rabbinical school didn't teach.

My aunt Mary, who had married into the family, stood up with a flock of white printer paper in hand. Earlier I had seen her working on it like it was due by midnight. Truthfully, she had worked on it for months, since grandma passed. She had wanted to read at the service but was nixed out by my other aunt, Jean, who had only started her speech the day of the service. I saw the scattered notes on the table at breakfast that day and at the service she read her speech from a hand written copy.

My aunt Mary was long winded, but bless her, if only her, because she had a hell of a lot to say. Unfortunately, by the time she was done the crowd looked as anxiously bored as during the service. My dad's side weren't compassionate speakers, or compassionate, and since I was adopted and overshadowed, I figured maybe I should share my story. I raised my hand to volunteer next.

I wasn't picked first, but I didn't expect to be. I waited out an economics lesson and a vague character description before I was picked. I walked up to the center and looked around. God there were a lot more people than I thought. I looked around until I found a focus, a lady who I had never seen before, possibly from India, with real green eyes that shined through the pastel people. I dropped my head low.

"Hi my name is Peter Starkebaum and I'm a grandson," I paused with the umm of a dying motor boat, "I just wanted to share story about my grandma." And just then I realized where I was and I started crying, but I did not stop.

"I came down with my dad last Thanksgiving to visit my grandma. When we got there she wasn't doing so well.. but when she was there, I mean awake, I hadn't, I never," I broke off in hard coughs. Great, now I'm convulsing in front of a bunch of strangers, nice logic Pete. I felt an arm come around me and I turned my head and saw the plump bleach blond head of the pastor lean towards my ear.

"Now son," he said as my body retracted into it's smallest, "Go on, please. It's okay, God is with you. I'm with you." I was about to say something to him, something regrettable. But from somewhere, my guess is Heaven, my mom came and grabbed me by my side. My body slackened on the mom side and I found a new energy from my discomfort. The pastor retreated seeing that mom was in control now, and I went on.

"So, oh god," I couldn't talk because my voice was convulsing. It felt like my heart was in my voice box. It felt good and I went on.

"My grandma was asleep most of the time we were there. The last night we were there she wanted to go for a walk to see the christmas lights. My dad, my aunt, and I," I said as I looked for my aunt and dad in the crowd. I was looking for their faces as much as the encouragement on them, but I couldn't see them through the water in my eyes. I choked on a croak and started again.

"We took her for a walk around the neighborhood to see the Christmas lights, but there really wasn't any except for a few houses down the road. I pushed her along on the sidewalk, before we got to a final house.

"All she could say was how beautiful everything was. Everything. The whole time I was there I didn't hear one complaint for anything and I never realized how amazing of a woman she was until.. Until we got to the last house on the road. It was a friend of hers, but she couldn't remember their names. My dad knows them I guess, if anyone wants to know who it was. But we made it down there and she wouldn't, couldn't have been happier with anything else. But all it was was a set of lights, nothing great, not even special. But she thought it was the most beautiful thing in the world. I just don't get, we take so much for granted, she showed me that," I said with my head low. "Well thanks for letting me cry in front of you guys, I'm sorry I must look like a fool," I apologized. I looked up at the real green eyed lady for the first time since I started crying, what seemed like, days ago. She was looking right at me and crying too. I looked at her for a while, caught between the microphone and a connection. I looked away and saw most everyone was crying. I started crying harder and my my father came up and hugged me.