Closure

As I sat at my grandmother's funeral this week, I felt perplexed. I know that funerals are designed for the family to give closure to our feelings of loss and give opportunities to say goodbye to those we love.

Yet, it doesn't work that way for me. I sit at the funerals and feel empty; I don't want to go the casket to view someone who is not there anymore. Those are not the final images I want in my mind of people who have been so vitally important to me.

So, where do I get closure? My grandmother had been suffering from dementia for a few years, so I have been feeling the loss of her for a long time. But, I don't feel closure.

Today I had an idea: I would write about a few of the memories that capture my grandmother in my mind. Then, I could at least feel like I have commemorated her memory.

When I think of grandma, her voice and eyes are the first picture I get. I can see myself walking into grandma's house, and she would enthusiastically hug and kiss each one of us. Grandma would say, "Oh, Jenny! You have grown so much!" Without fail, she would hug each one of us and her unique strong voice would resonate and make us smile.

Then, as we ate any meal at grandma's, we would play with her Lazy Susan, spinning it around to reach for the item we wanted (and for fun as well.) I remember wanting mom to have a Lazy Susan so badly after being at Grandma's because I loved playin with it.

I can remember mom and Grandma discussing books as both of them shared a common love of reading.

I also can see her characteristic snow-white hair sitting in the stands at each of my important high school events. Grandma and Grandpa would make the two hour trek to our house in order to see us perform in a plethora of activities.

I remember being at her house as a little girl, watching my uncles playing with lawn darts in the backyard. Grandma would always worry about one of us kids getting to close to the darts.

I picture grandma and grandma and their feisty interactions. When I was in college, mom, dad, and I went to visit them in Florida. As we walked through the airport, Grandma and grandma were upset with each other about something, and grandpa told her "I'm gonna kick your butt!" She laughed and said, "You couldn't if you tried." I laughed so hard! They had an amazing chemistry that allowed their intense passion to always be in the forefront.

I remember countless Christmas Eves in Grandma's front room with all of us grandchildren opening presents at one time. The noise was deafening, but one voice could always be heard about it all: Grandma Compan's. She would be laughing, smiling, and hugging each of us.

More than anything, I remember a woman with an amazing spirit. Grandma Compan had such fire and vitality. I always wanted to emulate her passion and love for life. She didn't live life quietly; she lived it strong and to the fullest. I will miss her more than I can express.