Day's done

Did you ever sing that song at camp? Taps?"Day's done. Gone the sun. Through the lakes, through the hills, through the skies. All is well, safely rest. Good night (or god is nigh)."

I always enjoyed singing that at sunset during weeks at summer camp. And it comes to me tonight, after a long and heavy day of reminiscence and goodbye. I gave Jack the option of coming, or not, to everything today: the pre-funeral visitation; funeral; burial; etc. Southern Catholics don't mess around with their funerals; these events are serious time commitments, and I wanted to let Jack feel a sense of control. He opted into everything and was great.

Afterwards, I said he could veg out all afternoon. He played ludicrous amounts of video games and did some reading. I made a lemon meringue pie a la Nanny and my shrimp cassoulet for dinner. Mom, Dad, jack, my aunt Renee and I told stories, ate well and now eagerly, almost desperately, are calling it a day. Mom said I should stop cooking, but that's what I could do, you know?

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.