Bye, Foom Foom. I'll Miss You.

I went to my grandmother's funeral today (myself and all my brothers have called her Foom Foom her entire life, for reasons we have now forgotten. She loved the name). She was one month short of 92 years old, and in the least three years of her life, her mental state had deteriorated to such that she did not recognize any of us any more, even my father, who is her only child. I've never actually been to a funeral before, and I managed to hold it together until my father gave the eulogy. He was funny and serious at the same time, and at the end, when he described how she began to slip away this year, it was the first time I had ever seen him cry. I cried too. I realized I never really had a chance to say goodbye, so just before we left her gravesite, after I had helped carry her coffin up the hill to its final resting place next to her husband (who died in 1968), I rubbed the coffin and said, "Bye Bye Foom Foom. I'll Miss You."

I will.