I went to a memorial service at a church today. It was for all the people who had died a year ago (or so) and been taken care of by this particular funeral home. My grandmother, Mema, had died February 2, 2000. It was a terrible time for me. She was 87. The service was really good; it was short, and there was a candle lighting ceremony that involved everyone holding a lit candle for awhile. It was helpful, cause I've been thinking about her a lot this month.
She was the only person in my childhood to love me unconditionally. She never told me not to eat something cause I was too fat; she never yelled at me. She never hit me. She only told me how pretty I looked, how smart I was. She welcomed me into her home every summer for four weeks at a time - along with my two brothers and one sister - and nurtured every one of us. When I was at her house, I played all day long. I was allowed to be a child. It was the only time in my childhood that I felt loved, appreciated, and cared about - unconditionally. I miss her a lot. I hope she is at peace somewhere, someway.