Mary Jane

My heart has been heavy with thoughts of mortality and how fragile our bodies are, and how we process losing our loved one. This last November I lost a cousin that was dear to me. He lived in California, but his family brought him home to be buried. at his funeral were several elderly folks. They may have known him as a boy from being in their congregation, Sunday school, or scouts, but they didn't know him now. I turned to my cousin and said something about the peculiarity of the situation of why they were there. She said, "remember we are taught to mourn with those that mourn and comfort those that stand in need of comfort."  Her words pricked my heart. I had always thought of funerals as a time to pay your respect to the one that has passed, and I still believe that, but, most certainly, I think, funerals are for those of us left behind. They allow the mourners to be comforted and allow the loved ones of the mourners to comfort. There is something really powerful that connects souls on a deep level when you can give comfort or be a recipient of comfort. I echo the words of Peggy Haynes, she says: "Contrary to what a lot of people believe (or hope) comfort doesn't take the pain away. Comfort slides in beside the pain pulling up a chair so that we have something more than sorrow in our hearts. Comfort gently expands our spirits so that we can breathe again. Comfort opens our eyes so that we can see possibility again. And on those days, whether it is the next day or five years removed, on that day when grief rears its dark head again, comfort helps us remember that pain is not all there is.

There are different types of love that one feels for their family, one type comes from familiarity with a person. The fact that they are around in your space and you are a better person for it. However, there is another type of love that has nothing to do with being in some one's space. This is the type I feel for my grandma Mary Jane and, I believe... her for me. It transcends miles and age. Sure maybe it has something to do with DNA memory, but I believe it is bigger then that; love that connects our souls. It is an everlasting, eternal love. I am grateful that though life decisions took my dad, ultimately to Idaho. He and my mom made sure that we stayed in contact with his family because the opportunities that I would have had to spend time and learn from my Grandma would have been lost. What a tragedy that would have been! I would not have: heard that gregarious laugh again, those inappropriate, yet hilarious jokes, I would not have felt the loving wack of her cane on my rear, and I would not have been able to sit on the edge of her bed listening to her crazy antics and loving words of wisdom.

MARY JANE YOU WILL BE MISSED!

She is the perfect balance: of fierceness and tenderness; of gumption and layed-backness; of strictness and generosity.

Words are inadequate to describe the tapestries woven by family. You love them so deeply though you can't exactly pick out the  particular threads that are the design of your life. This is especially the case of those family member that you do not get to experience often enough. Like the sprinkling of color in a black and white tapestry. Grandma thank you for being my bit of red.

My favorite bit of red is Mary Jane's reaction to my dad telling her I had gotten a tattoo. It is on my hip and when I showed her my tattoo. She jumped up out of her chair and nearly toppled over, and while she was jumping out of her chair she was telling me that she had a tattoo of a mouse on her butt. She pulled down her pants and showed me her butt. I said, "Grandma you don't have a tattoo!" and she said, "Oh...the pussy must'a ate it." And then she laughed until she cried and I laughed until I nearly peed my pants.


A grandmother's relationship is different for each individual. She could be like a mother, or just someone you see once in a while, but...regardless they hold an irreplaceable spot on our hearts.