The Funeral

Dressed in black, we met Zaydeh for breakfast at the hotel. Zaydeh smiled at seeing us in such unusual garb and commented, “Who decided on this colour anyway?” He had a point. I was one of very few people at the actual funeral who were all in black.
Breakfast was awful. I was smiling too much, trying to make everyone feel better. My sister was quiet, my mother was sad, and Zaydeh was distraught. He couldn’t believe he was burying his wife of 64 years – and neither could we. Those two had always been a formidable unit of teasing, cooking, and never-ending affection. The question began to rise in my mind, “What are you supposed to do when your family is broken?”
Sitting between my sister and my eleven-year-old cousin, Mo, I felt ridiculous. “I can’t believe I’m at my grandmother’s funeral. I’ve never been to a funeral and now I’m at her’s! Impossible.” In the past few years all of my four grandparents have been teetering into poorer health, but I never thought that Bubbeh would be the first to go.
My grandmother, being an unwavering defender of the women’s liberation, was honoured by a female canter in a purple suit. The canter, as it turned out, was the first women ever to perform a ceremony in the Orthodox Jewish cemetery where Bubbeh was buried. Breaking the moulds even after life. The canter led us in Yiddish folk songs and in prayers. We followed the pallbearers to the gravesite beneath a magnificent old tree. The tree reminded me so much of Bubbeh, it almost surged with her spirit. I immediately identified it as “The Bubbeh Tree” and I feel confident that it was a place she would have picked out herself, though my grandparents had never reserved their final resting places – optimists well into their mid 80’s. We took turns shoveling earth onto her grave and returned to Elliot Bay for her reception.

At the reception, I felt like I didn’t want to be around people anymore. I had no appetite, though the platters in front of me looked delicious (Bubbeh would not have held back – she was a champion eater). I took a glass of wine and sat out on the steps, looking out at the bay, thinking of how unfair it was for God to take someone we all needed so, so much. Bubbeh said, “God will never let the world end so long as there are ten good people in it.” But with her gone, we’re down to nine.
When I returned to the reception, people had begun telling stories about their times spent with Bubbeh. It was a gift that I was able to remember her through so many different people. She was kind, a good listener, never shied away from making friends with complete strangers, she could out-eat just about anyone, and she never sat down at the dinner table when she was cooking. She truly wanted to know everyone, and she wanted to understand people fully and without judgment. I hope that every one of us was able to take home a part of her spirit and that it makes us all better people in the future.

After everyone went home (“it’s like herding cats!”), I resisted the jet lag induced urge to nap for the next 19 hours and waited for Megan to get off work. Fortunately for me, her office was the next building over from my hotel. It was really nice to see her again – it had been nearly a year since she left Japan! But I was weighed down by grief and exhaustion and I don’t think I expressed my happiness as well as I could have. She took me and Laura out to a great happy hour place where we ate yam fries and tried local beers. It was nice having all of the funeral things over with and being able to relax a little bit, even though we were still very sad. Bubbeh had always known that food could cure just about anything; and I think she and yam fries would have been fast friends.