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.

Here, tired, bed, family

Jack and I had an easy trip down today, and as we skidded to a stop at the Lake Charles airport, I asked him what he thought the odds were of Mom or Dad picking us up on time. His answer? 5. "Jack, five out of ten?" I queried."Nope, out of 100." "What about our bag having arrived?" "16."

He's not far off, historically speaking. ;) But in fact, Dad was waiting as we exited the gate, our bag came around quickly, Jack was simply elated to be here, and when we walked in to my parents' home, all felt right. My mom and aunts were choosing pictures for the slideshow that will play during tomorrow's visitation, so I took Jack out to get wizard-craft supplies (his newest library book is basically a cookbook of wizardry-related projects, and he was keen to try making Phoenix's ashes and a flying broom) and to the market so we could restock the basics in the kitchen.

While I made granola (everyone looked like they could use some good, healthy food), Jack readied the seemingly hundreds of matches we were to light afire in order to produce smoky, glowing ashes. After four books of spent stubs, I called Dad (a kinda pyromaniac like jack) to take over. They had a small fire going in the garage, and I made a point to just keep cooking. It was definitely a craft fail, yet to Jack it is "The Big Burn" and was awesome.

We started cutting the broomcorn for the flying broom but had to stop because that little boy was out of gas and never returned. Tomorrow.

Lovely neighbors brought us dinner, and now I'm crashed in bed, a single eye open as I come to the end of this post. I am really, really tired.

Mom and her sisters feel that the funeral home did a great job and that Nanny looks beautiful and peaceful.

Until tomorrow...

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.