I went to my grandmother’s funeral Saturday and saw a lot of my family after years and years of not having seen them. My cousins have all grown up and gotten jobs, and it made me feel both older and younger. Older, because I’m the eldest granddaughter, and the older they get, the more ancient I get. Younger, because everyone else was all dressed up for the funeral, most having government or corporate day jobs and mortgages, and I came in jeans and a black dressy top, the starving artist still renting a one-bedroom place. Most of them hadn’t seen me in over a decade, so I was like a prodigal daughter come home.

The whole thing being a Filipino affair, there were four long tables of food against the wall and family everywhere. Because of the availability of the Mormons speaking it was a bit backwards from the usual process; we had the viewing, the wake, and the service … in that order. So it didn’t quite end on a happy note, as all funerals should. My Uncle Danny’s funeral was much more conventional—we had the viewing and the service in the chapel, the internment on the grounds, then the wake at the house, and I went from bawling like a baby to laughing like a loon at all the Uncle Danny stories told.

My grandmother’s funeral was nothing like that. With the entire event ending with the service, many of her children left with their eyes red-rimmed.

I’ve been to four funerals that I can remember. My first was when I was just past the toddling age, and the deceased was an old man who died of natural causes. I remember looking into the casket with curiousity, then running off to laugh and play with the other kids. My second was maybe a year or a few later, and the deceased was a two-year-old girl who was hit by a car pulling out of a driveway. I remember looking into the casket, then bawling like a baby. My Uncle Danny was killed by a drunk driving illegal immigrant, and I cried at the funeral. My grandmother finally died of heart failure after wanting to die, and I was quite serene at her funeral.

So it seems the pattern of my emotions at these events is based on the deceased person’s quality of life, their remaining life potential, and the fairness or lack of it in the timing of their death. I can’t stand the death of a person still fairly young and healthy, with so many dreams of a future yet unfulfilled, their life in progress so rudely interrupted, the people they’ve left behind so robbed of the further benefit of that person’s living. Meanwhile, I’m quite able to accept the death of a person who has lived a lifetime or more, has done everything they’ve wanted to do, and is more than ready to go.

My Uncle Danny left behind a wife and two young sons, a promising engineering job at a university, and a new house full of projects for his capable carpentry work. He and my Aunt were house flippers long before the term existed, and throughout their married years, they moved from house to bigger house, fixing things up as they went along until they ended with a huge ranch-style home on a two-acre lot.

My grandmother, on the other hand, didn’t have a lot going for her and lived only to see her youngest son launch. Her days were spent watching game shows, sitting on the floor playing Solitaire, sewing her own clothes, and going to church. She lasted about 33 years after her husband died. Or perhaps, exactly 33 years to the day (I’m not really sure). My grandfather died about two weeks after I was born; he got to hold me at least once before he passed away. My grandmother died this year, two weeks after my birthday, lasting long enough to see her youngest son finally hold down two jobs and live on his own with his fiancee.

The point is, my grandmother was ready to go. At 85, she was more than ready.

Still, her death reminded me how short life is and how alone we all are in the world. So at the funeral, I promised myself and my aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews, nieces, and godson that I would keep in better touch with everyone. And especially after I’ve taken such a nice trip to my godmother’s this year, I plan on being a better godmother myself.

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