My mother has been gone a year. Hardly seems real since there was no funeral. Covid robbed her of the send off she deserved... she was the last of her generation. All her siblings had their fond farewell. It saddens me that she did not get her final good-bye.
Funerals are not for the dead, they are for the living. They help families grieve. They remind us how precious life is. My mom was the youngest of her family. It was fitting that she was the last to go. She would have been 90 just 6 weeks after her passing. I'd like to imagine her brother and sisters greeted her at the pearly gates with welcoming hugs.
Things were so simple all those years ago.... Sunday dinners in Grandma's basement. Always macaroni and meatballs..... none of the dishes matched.... everyone was dressed up... it was loud... there was a lot of love in that room...
My first cousins, siblings and I are the "old folks" now. We are the matriarchs and patriarchs... the old aunts and uncles. Those are big shoes to fill.
