Just finished watching my grandmother's memorial service online. It was streamed live from their mega-church in Colorado Springs.
It was... weird.
I don't have the time (or frankly, the mental energy) to expound on some of the issues that go on with the HomeValleyian clan. Suffice it to say: there are issues. We've all got 'em. You know how it goes.
But I must mention that my grandfather, whom I love dearly, was the first to speak. He presented a slide show of my grandmother's life.
As it began, I dutifully jotted down his explanations, made notes about which pictures I wanted to be sure to ask him for. I had never seen many of them, and in several my grandmother looks absolutely stunning. Why had I never known these? Who was this woman?
As the slide show wore on, meandering into 1980s and 90s territory, I found myself willing him to include a photo of me. A photo of any grandchild. A photo of my grandmother with a grandchild. There are nine of us.
A photo with family (other than distant relatives she rarely visited in Sweden and Finland), though I was grateful there was one photo of Far-Mor with her only brother, Kurt.
And then, the show was over. My grandfather had included exactly three photos of my grandmother with two of her sons (all taken in the late 50s, early 60s). He had included zero photos of her youngest son. Nor any photos Far-Mor with any grandchild. Nor any of her with their only great-grandchild.
It made me very sad, is all.
It sort of underscores the issues. It made me question my place in her life. And I imagine my sisters and cousins and aunts and uncles and stepmother and father - all sitting in the front rows, having flown to Colorado from the east coast this week - were wondering much the same.