My grandmother, Dot Webb, passed away a week ago last Friday. I got the news while walking around Epcot. Was I devastated, no, deeply saddened and yet also relieved. She was suffering no longer, and my family could have some closure on a horrible situation. Grandma suffered from Alzheimer’s and was blind in both eyes. At the end, her life was not very pleasant.
So Sarah-Irene and I jumped on a plane and headed up to Ohio for the funeral. Whether you believe in God, or you don’t, there is just something amazing about a funeral for a Christian. There is sadness, but also joy and a deep peace. In contrast, most funerals for non-believers are also sad, but there is a sense of finality that permeates the event. Grandma’s funeral was anything but the final chapter in a person’s life.
For the first time as an adult, my entire family, on my Mom’s side, was together. And I came away with a renewed hope in connecting to my family. For the longest time, I was the proverbial ‘black sheep’. I walked my own path and had very little contact with my extended family. But something in my cousin’s young son looking up at me and calling me “John-John”, a family nickname, flipped an emotional switch inside of me and something melted away.
I desperately wanted to belong to this group of people. I wanted to be a part of my family, because for the longest time, I struggles with keeping up with my extended family. It wasn’t anything personal, just some typical issues that happen when people grow up together.
There was just something about this child looking up at me, and calling me by name that wrecked me. And changed me, and made somehow right that I should be John-John for a day.
