I’m off to Hawaii to bury my grandpa on top of my grandma. Yes, it sounds weird, which is how the whole thing feels. It starts with a cemetary filing bankruptcy and just goes from there. I will probably be emotionally bereft as we actually place him in the ground, but so far it hasn’t hit me as much as I thought it might. I think this is partially because Alzheimer’s disease took my grandpa from me years ago, so the body that was left had only a hint of man I remember. The grandpa who used to dig holes in the sand in Waikiki and bury us with piles of sand. The grandpa who helped carve mermaid tails and turtles on the beach with us. The grandpa who would bring a large bag of birdseed to the zoo so we could feed the hundreds of thousands of pigeons in the park, even though I don’t think you’re supposed to do that. The grandpa who used to take us crayfish fishing using grandma’s dried shrimp as bait. That’s the one I miss. The grandpa who would sneak food to the dogs when he wasn’t supposed to and then act innocent when caught? Somehow, he was still there to the very end.
So, in lieu of an actual service, we’ll be gathered at the burial site with a lot of friend and family, which kind of makes it a service in itself. And we’ll be doing a lot of eating. And sorting. And probably more eating.
It makes me feel old that I only have one grandma left. Like, this wasn’t supposed to happen for at least a few more years.