Rosaries, and such

People, it is probably exceedingly obvious that I'm not terribly religious. I am also not a Catholic. As such, I found tonight's rosary extremely long, but even the Catholics among us found it long, so I think my lack of religion is not the primary reason for my feeling. Jack may have summed it up best when he asked, "why is she saying 'Mary' so often?" It was a fair point, but I replied, "well, sweetie, Nanny asked that one be said." Later, when I tucked him in, he said, "Mom, please don't ask for a rosary when you die." Even if you are Catholic, you must admit that that is funny. It's priceless in fact! I said, "you got it, partner!"

After four hours, I took Jack home. He was insanely patient and wonderful, and someone towards the end of things gave him $5 (she asked "who is this?" pointing at the fiver; he said "Abraham Lincoln," and she said, "it's yours) which thrilled him to no end PLUS he got to eat a usually-illicit bag of Cheetohs, but by four hours, it was time, so I took him home and tucked him in. He is such a dear honey.

Nanny did look good, and so many lovely and loving people came tonight. After returning home, I opened a good bottle of wine and made a giant kale sald with roasted tomatoes and goat cheese and talked with Dad for a while and am now off to bed in prep for tomorrow.

When the matriarch dies, does someone step in? Does the family line jump to another or something? What do elephants do, those giant, wise gray bags of matriarchal coolness?

Stuff to take with her

I am really tired, friends. And I'm riding the crest of my second big wave of sadness. I've just tried to be of help since we arrived -running errands, cooking, cleaning, trying to comfort- but I'm alone in the house right now, and the sadness is heavy and hard to bear. The casket Nanny chose is a wooden one lined in pale pink satin, and somewhere in it is a small drawer for notes or treasures family members wish to send with her. Ol and Jack each drew pictures (Ol's is Snow White minus hair; Jack said that because Nanny was never able to see one of his baseball games, he thought he'd show her what a scene from one looked like, plus some hearts and kissing lips and such); I think they're very dear. T and I each wrote letters, and I know that when I slip these into the drawer, it will be hard to shut it.

Mom and her sisters said the funeral home did a wonderful job of making Nanny look beautiful and peaceful; they even dyed her hair back to the right color which I know she would be thrilled about. Today is the visitation and rosary, tomorrow the mass and funeral. Tomorrow evening I hope to make dinner for everyone, including Nanny's lemon fluff pie.

On our way, Malala

The rain persisted all day yesterday; it does have a way of dampening the mood after a while. And while I love good storms, and even the occasional rainy afternoons, the past few days of deluge have made me feel heavy and tired. Or perhaps that's just sadness and saying goodbye; perhaps it's a grief concert played by nature and self. I had tickets to hear NPR's Michel Martin interview Malala Yousafzai and her father, Ziauddin, at the Sidwell Friends Meeting House last night. A house dedicated to peace, contemplation and communion was the perfect venue in which to hear this poised, brave, inspiring young woman and her wonderful, equally brave father, tell their story. This week marked the one year anniversary of Malala being shot by the Taliban, and as you might know, she was recently nominated for tr Nobel Peace Prize, the youngest nominee ever. She didn't win but feels she did in a way. I'm looking forward to reading her book.

Jack and I are at DCA now, soon to board our first flight towards home. I am so glad he's coming with me, and he is happy too. His school nurse and librarian sent us off with three wonderful, age-appropriate books about death and life cycles, so we'll read those and some more Harry Potter during the next few hours. I was sad to leave T and Ol, clad in his Cinderella dress/slippers/gloves behind but this will be a good trip for Jack and me, and I know my mom will draw strength from our presence.