With one auspicious, and one drooping eye

It was impossible to genuinely imagine a world without grandma, until that world became a reality.

I mean, I was obviously aware that since Grandma is human, and Humans are mortal, therefore Grandma is mortal (to use the good old syllogism). But that was exactly it - a philosophical experiment. Something abstract, not something real.

Grandma was very present during her funeral, which was on Tuesday.

For one, she had chosen two of the hymns and the motto of the whole thing. The mother-in-law said she couldn't have done that, which I find weird. If I were 87 and diagnosed with terminal cancer, I like to think that once I were done running in circles and going AAAAAAAAH at the top of my mind, I'd try to get my stuff in order, up to and including making arrangements for my funeral. (But of course, this is also a philosophical experiment, and who knows what I'd do in reality?)

I probably wouldn't have chosen the rather cheerful Lobet den Herren, though. (I chose it for our wedding service, because I knew it was grandma's favourite hymn.) But that's OK. It wasn't even out of place - there are a couple of lines about retrospection and gratitude in it - but it was certainly the most tear-choked rendition I expect this song has ever experienced. (I also wouldn't have chosen the second hymn, which was one of those 19th century pietist pieces, but it was her confirmation hymn, so it also fitted in this case.)

For two, family was always the most important thing to Grandma. She was the stereotypical Swabian in her business dealings, but when it came to family, she would've given anything that was in her power. So she would have been happy that a lot of the family had gathered - even my father's brothers attended the funeral. Some of them introduced themselves to me, which in one case was necessary (I had met this cousin of my late grandfather exactly once, for his 60th birthday party, which was 21 years ago) and in another case very much wasn't (I'd only met this aunt once, but a) she looks a lot like her sister, whom I've met more often, and b) she's got flaming red hair, so it was pretty easy to identify her).

During the feast that followed the funeral, all the grandchildren (+ Felix + Julian + my mother-in-law) occupied one table. And talk turned trivial and, eventually, to joking. I had brought one of them magnetic painting pads in case Felix got bored, but he preferred to extensively use the restaurants (very nice) playground. So my cousins used the kiddy painting pad instead. All of them are younger than I am, so I've known them all as little kids and even though we meet regularly, I keep forgetting how much they've grown. They were competing a bit for Julian's affection and when he wasn't really comfortable with any of them, I told them how they had cried at me when they were babies and they hadn't trusted the strange old cousin. And now these babies who cried when I tried to carry them around are discussing Game of Thrones and what they're going to do after school (two of them have just graduated)! I have trouble wrapping my mind around that.
At any rate, after a while we were talking animatedly. And feeling a bit guilty about that. And then one aunt was leaving and saying goodbye and she said, "Take care, and I hope you'll always stick together like this". and we promised to do that.
And I felt my grandmother smile. Because that's what was so important to her, too.

So the funeral really was a mixed bag. The service and the coffin and the open grave were terribly painful and raw and teary; the feast afterwards was a nice family gathering; and when we returned to the graveyard afterwards, things turned downright funny.

You see, my grandmother's last resting place (well, as long as the lease for the grave lasts :P) is the grave that her husband has already been occupying for the past 35 years, so there were a lot of plants and decorational elements on it that now had to be removed. And since nobody at the funeral parlour could tell Mom whether anyone was responsible for putting the huge rhododendron shrub back in (they only kept it alive because Mom rememered to tell them on time - otherwise, they'd just have thrown it away!), said rhododendron had to be brought to grandma's home (oh, how wrong it felt to enter that house knowing that she'd never be there again, while everything still looked exactly the same, just as she'd left it!), where her gardener would put it back into the ground. There was only a very rickety old wheelbarrow at the graveyard which creaked and moaned even when it was still empty, and my mother was worried that everybody would ruin their black suits, and the rhodendron kept trying to escape from the wheelbarrow, and the wheelbarrow was threatening to fall apart, and that's how they made their way from the graveyard to grandma's home. It was very surreal and at once loveable and wrong, like something out of a British comedy film, not out of real life. And then it started to rain. Just a bit. But right on cue.
Well, the wheelbarrow didn't break... completely. And the rhododendron was saved. (Probably? It was a pretty big shrub and they didn't cut any of it back. But it's got a chance.)

And that rounded off this funeral, so that in the end, it felt that the raw spot the service had torn in my heart was already scabbing over, because there had been so much to smile about.

And although grandma was all about dignity, she'd probably would have smiled, too.

On the drive home, the rains came back more intensely, followed by sunshine and a double rainbow -- the most intense rainbow I've seen in a very long time. And I like to believe that it meant something.