My grandpa was a prominent member of the SLC Italian-American community, was responsible for getting the SLC Opera where it is today, and was a ‘real fox’ according to one of the ladies who spoke at his Rosary the night before his funeral. In order to convey the experience I’ve come up with two lists.
–What made me cry:
1) Ave Maria. Don’t know what it is, but I end up in a little puddle every time I listen to this Schubert aria.
2) Mention of my grandfather’s incredible love for my grandmother who died suddenly 17 years ago. None of us, not even the steeliest of cousins, was immune to the incredible passion my grandpa carried for her year after year in solitude. We all openly wept when the priest acknowledged grandma, many of us visualizing the two of them shopping somewhere in heaven together looking for bargains.
3) Entering and exiting the church with the casket. It was like a crying parade with me somehow always ending up in the front. The finality of bringing grandpa in and then escorting him out was so heartbreaking I blubbered until tears came off my cheeks, down my chin, and fell into my cleavage.
4) Red roses on the casket that we plucked for pressing.
–What made me feel ok:
1) Watching Erin hold a little umbrella over the terminally ill priest who was not doing well in the hot cemetery sun.
2) Joining hands with ten family members as we hauled the heaviest casket ever across the cemetery and to the grave site.
3) Connecting with my Great Uncle who looks so much like grandpa it was heartbreaking, (imagine going through the entire day thinking, “Grandpa! Oh no, wait, that’s just Uncle Rocco who looks like grandpa from behind”).
4) Making garlic bread with my cousin for a large dinner the eve of the funeral.
5) We gathered all the left over spaghetti sauce in the freezer that my grandpa had made, put it into a large pot, and served twenty people with it. What a bittersweet meal: the last time my grandpa would ever feed us with his signature sauce.
6) Taking pictures with people who share the family nose, the family temperament, the family “worry about getting to the airport on time” trait.
7) Making plans to return in October to watch “Madame Butterfly” at the SLC Opera. They plan on dedicating that particular opera to my grandpa and I plan on being there, (and crying I’m sure).
8) Picking out several ties–specifically a unicorn tie for my sister who couldn’t be there and a snazzy red patterned tie for myself.
9) I also arranged every sweater he owned by color and pattern on his bed. His sweater collection was enormous and we kept finding sweaters in various hidden locations–some still in their plastic wrappers and many of them purchased on sale. The family spent hours going through his sweaters and trying them on. None of us are the square shape my grandpa was, having inherited my grandma’s height, but many of us picked out sweaters anyway out of love and the need to be closer to grandpa. I took one sweater that I’ll make into a pillow and one to wear around the house.
10) Finally, and most strangely, I got around to asking my Uncle Tony why I gasped for air right before I was put under anesthesia for my ear surgery. Being an anesthesiologist, he explained that there are two drugs: one for knocking you out and one for paralyzing you so you don’t move during surgery. Normally they knock you out first and then paralyze you while you’re sleeping. Sounds like they didn’t wait long enough between drugs, administrating them one right after the other, and my lungs were reacting to the paralysis setting in. Someone fucked up big time.