Letters from Grenada

Yesterday’s post was harder to write than I expected. All I really wanted to do was throw together a quick intro, then post my eulogy. But the “intro” ended up much longer than I intended, and not nearly as crisp as I’d hoped. By the time I was finished I had let Jack nap for too long and was too drained to even bother captioning the photos.

So I’m not going to describe the funeral in detail. Instead I will simply say that 1) it was an incredibly gorgeous experience, and 2) that it was entirely planned and executed by my family. There were speeches, songs and prayers. We did well, we Montgomerys.

I wrote the eulogy during the wake immediately preceding the funeral. I had been thinking about what I wanted to say all week, and the deadline was obviously non-negotiable, so I managed.

It was nearly four years ago that we brought Grandma Vera to Grenada. We immediately knew that we’d made the right decision, bringing her there, for two reasons.

She couldn’t stop grinning, and she finally stopped asking for her hat and gloves. She was finally warm, and that was good.

At the beginning, my mom took her to church most Sundays. Grandma would wear her linen suit, her straw hat and bob her head along with the gospel singing.

We took her to the beach. At her request, she rode blind-folded in the front seat, because people drive on the other side of the road in Grenada, and she preferred not to watch that. At the beach, she’d play in the water, then sit in the shade. Grenadian locals would stop and say, “Hallo, Granny! How are you today?” And she’d smile like a beauty queen.

There was Cheryl, who sang for Grandma. There was Lyndon, who cooked for Grandma. Towards the end, when she couldn’t turn move much, he’d get up in the middle of the night to turn her so she wouldn’t get bedsores. There was Cutty, the taxi driver who carried her up and down the stairs. Everybody adored her. People *I* had never met were always asking me, “How is Granny?” I am grateful to Grenada for that. I am grateful to Grenadians for their profound and sincere respect and love for the elderly.

We lived in a lovely apartment overlooking Westerhall Bay. You saw our verandah in the photos on the DVD.

The view was simply stunning, there is no better word. Whenever I looked out I saw God’s love for us, made obvious in nature.

We were surrounded by animals. Our neighbors had cows, goats, sheep, chickens and one lonely donkey. Very early in the morning, when the rooster crowed, Grandma would return his call, then chuckle softly to herself.

There was always fresh ocean breeze blowing through her room.  She had her very own verandah, and though she rarely sat out there, the open door kept her room filled with the warmest sunshine imaginable.

I am grateful that my son got to spend so much time with his great-grandmother. When he was very small, I would lay him down next to her, and they’d have the longest “conversations”, speaking only with their eyes and smiles.

When Jack got bigger and more mobile, Grandma would watch us chasing him around the house and laugh. She loved babies, and she reveled in recalling her own, but teased me that she was glad we never asked her to babysit. Jack has a special nickname for Grandma -> He calls her “Ba”. He understood that he had to be gentle with her, so he’d lift her feet up onto her ottoman, pat her hand and sit quietly in her lap.

Grandma Vera loved to get letters, and she got so many. We’d read them to her, then leave them propped up by her place at the table so she could look at them over and over. Every Sunday the phone would ring and ring, as Grandma’s children called to talk. She loved those phone calls. Even when she could no longer speak much, she’d listen with rapt attention, her eyes lighting up with joy.

In the last months of her life, Grandma asked about Indiana a lot. She missed her brother Arthur. She talked about the farm and told stories from her childhood, but mostly she was quiet and thoughtful. Many times she told me how much she missed Grandpa Gene. She was getting ready.

I am so very proud of my grandmother. Her life is an example to all of us. I pray that all of us should be so *loved* and so *loving*. I pray that all of us should have lives so full. For me personally, I pray for a daughter like my mother, a daughter like Kay, who so selflessly and honorably took care of Vera until the very last moment.

Grandma’s death was so peaceful, I found myself overwhelmed by it’s beauty. That may sound strange to you, but I swear it’s true. It was beautiful.

That morning, after she was gone, I sat next to her and put my hand on her forehead. I closed my eyes and saw her, Vera, young and spry and up in heaven, running full tilt through a field, jumping and whooping for joy, reunited with Gene and Alice and Robert and Martin and everyone else who’d passed before her.

Through my tears, I smiled. I smiled because even though I am very sad, I am also *happy for her*, because she is safe and at peace now. Like they say in Grenada, she has gone home.

I love you, Grandma.

Posted on April 24th, 2009 under Grenada • Tags: death, eulogy, family, funeral, grandma vera, love, writing. •  Print This Post •  Email This Post • RSS 2.0 feed • Leave a response, or trackback