The funeral.

[corrvin]

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Imagine two men, two old men.

Chin wattles, arms all thin, wrinkles around eyes and mouth.

Two VFW caps.

One under the folded hands in the coffin.

One being worn by the man giving a shaking, palsied last salute.

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My grandmother kissed her husband goodbye, and told him that he was always beautiful.

Tomorrow would be their 65th wedding anniversary.

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We were worried that we'd have to drag my grandmother away from the grave. She did pretty well, though. Even accepted the folded flag and the ceremonial thanks and all that.

I haven't mentioned enough that I am extremely proud of her for getting through all this.

Because I've been crying too much to talk a lot. I'm okay, just very sad.

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We had dinner at the church and I got to meet (and hug) dale_in_queens's mom. Yay!

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On the way back to the house, my mom and uncle and I were having a lighter discussion about gravestones.

My mother has always said, "You can bury me in a sack but get me a big stone." I told her that I'd certainly do that, but those words were GOING on the stone. "That's okay," she said.

My uncle wants something different on his:

DON'T SAY MY NAME THREE TIMES.

He reckons it'll give him at least 100 years of fame among the local schoolchildren...