Funeral in Pittsburgh: Part Two

We stayed in Monroeville, which was about 15 miles east of Pittsburgh. Leechburg was another 20 miles from Monroeville and seemed like at least twice the drive. I drove back on Friday night, and the constant hills, the windy roads, and the lack of street lights made the trip a white-knuckler. Saturday was better. The sun even made a cameo appearance.

The main players in this weekend's events were the three kids. My aunt is the oldest and brought Grandma Alice to Las Vegas to live with her and her husband. She wore a sling all weekend because of recent rotator-cuff surgery. She travels a lot and the injury was apparently due to the repeated lifting and picking up of suitcases. She had a twin sister who died of cancer as a girl. My dad is in the middle. He is a hippie with long silver hair and has recently become a Catholic. He brought a nun and close friend to perform the eulogy. Grandma Alice reportedly hated Catholics, although no one disapproved of the choice. When you die, you're done with choices. The final child was my uncle. He was the first to move out of town. He's been in Baton Rouge for the past 20 years and sounds like a native.

I wasn't interested in the religious overtones of the ceremony. That's not my bag. It was the bag of the majority of the room so it was appropriate. The moment of the funeral and the entire weekend was when the Sister stepped aside and asked if anyone wanted to speak. Half a dozen people spoke, including all of the children, and each message was sad, hilarious, and poignant.

My aunt, that being my uncle's wife, spoke first. She had a handkerchief that Grandma Alice gave her on her wedding day. It was a token passed on from her grandmother on her wedding day. This underlined the importance of family. This family is spread across the country. We don't gather often. When we do, it's always a lot of fun. This trip was different. You could feel the thread, from Grandma Alice's two surviving sisters to the children to me, my brother, and my cousins to the nephews. There was a bond that never felt stronger. As my uncle said, we can mess with each other, but if someone else messes with us, bam! Yes, he said BAM like that New Orleans chef.

Grandma Alice was the age that my parents are now, 61, when I was born. She was 36 when she had my dad, which is my current age. According to family legend, I was the first grandchild who had a notice in the paper because my brother and cousin were born a little too close to my parents' and my aunt and uncle's wedding date. I might have to get "first legit grandchild" on a t-shirt for the next time we gather. What I meant to say was that I always saw her as an old woman. When we visited it was for a semi-formal Sunday meal. I'd play in the small backyard or in the cluttered basement. I don't remember the meals. I do remember that she introduced me to crunchy peanut butter.

Another thread in the free-form speeches about Grandma Alice was that she was tough. I'll venture that everyone who lived through the Depression is tougher than we can imagine. The toughness led to a somewhat gruff exterior. My uncle visited her in Vegas last month and brought over Thanksgiving dinner. He brought over the entire meal and warmed it up at the nurses's station. When he presented the meal, she said "No gravy?"

As grown-ups we constantly wonder how we became the people that we are. When I throw a withering humorous but in a dry way comment, I know where I get it from. I'd be pissed about the gravy too.

The family gathered at a local restaurant for a meal. I ordered a bottle of wine. Hey now, I shared. We ate and drank and mingled and eventually I got back on those roads for one last trip to the hotel. Since it was Pittsburgh, the city of bridges, we crossed over one bridge before Leechburg. It was a farewell.