Goodbyes and Cleaning Time

The memorial service was very nice yesterday. We had originally planned for it to be in a room that held around 30-35. We figured it was short notice, it was late afternoon, and a lot of the 'snow birds' still hadn't come back down yet. DH and I were the first ones to arrive, followed by some of her neighbors. The first few came up to us to pay their respects, then it sort of tapered off. I was sitting in the front row and spent most of the time crying or just leaning against DH.

A little before 3:30, when the service was just about to start, my dad gets in front of the room to speak. I figure he's going to get things started and say a little bit about my aunt. Wrongity-wrong-wrong. He announces that he's sorry to have to do this, but because there was no more room for everyone, we all needed to move to a bigger room. At this point, I turned around to find the place packed, with people standing and more people trying to get in!

We all trooped down the hall to their biggest room, the chapel (the same place where my mom's memorial service was held). The funeral director said they did a count; there were 60 people who came to pay their respects. The minister did a nice job of speaking about her, and everyone who came by at the end of the service said how much fun she was to be around and how much they'll miss her. It was a great testament and tribute to my amazing aunt, who could make friends with anyone and often did.

For a woman who didn't cook, Aunt Irene had a lot of stuff in her cabinets and cupboards. Spices I doubt she used more than once, some she hadn't even opened. Old boxes of tea bags she probably forgot she had. Her secret stash of York peppermint patties. A big jar of olives - with 3 lonely olives in it. We salvaged the stuff that hadn't expired yet, tossed anything that was old or already opened. We probably threw away 6 or 7 large leaf bags of 'stuff' just from the kitchen, and that only included the food. I haven't even approached the pots, pans, appliances, and tupperware yet.

I took the kitchen, dad was assigned paperwork and financial research, brother wound up fixing her leaking toilet, DH spent the day scraping off the window tinting from the front windows of her car (it was such a bad job, you couldn't roll the windows down all the way; if you got them down even just a bit, you couldn't roll them back up again), and sister-in-law got most of the clothes ready for donating.

This was the easy stuff, the stuff with little or no emotional impact... except for some things SIL and dad found that started to expose the cracks. First, dad found something wrapped in old newspaper; he wasn't quite sure what it was, so he asked me what I made of it. I opened the package carefully and found dried heather, and started to cry. It was a package of some heather from her mom and dad's flowers at their funeral, white for mom (my Nana), purple for dad (my grampa). I have some sprigs, too, and meant to bring them with me to add to her flowers and I blanked as we ran out the door on Tuesday. The next thing was what SIL brought out from her bedroom - the Red Spice sweater I had made for her, originally for Christmas, then when it didn't fit, a re-knit one she got when DH and I were here in February. It fit her exactly right, she loved it, and we took a field trip to pick out buttons she thought were perfect for it.

I expect to have more of those moment in the next few days, weeks, and months as I remember little things about her, and then remember that I can't call her to talk about it and laugh about it. DH has been wonderful, there by my side, holding me when I need it, giving me space when I need it.