Frances and Miriam

***This post is a bit long, but it describes part of a difficult and important chapter in our life.***

In October, we traveled home for the funerals of both of Peter's grandmothers.  Both of them were almost 93 years old.

On Tuesday, October 9, 2012, we found out that Peter's maternal grandmother Frances, was about to pass away.  Her health had been steadily declining over the last several months, so we had been expecting bad news at anytime.  We cancelled our commitments for the next two weeks, bought plane tickets, and packed to go home.  Later that night, we heard that Frances was gone.

The next morning, as we were preparing to fly home, we learned that Peter's paternal grandmother, Miriam, had been moved by ambulance to hospice.  She had lived with dementia for a number of years and a her physical health had declined rapidly in the previous month, so we were prepared for this news.  After our first short flight from Swaziland, while we were waiting at the Johannesburg Airport, we learned that Miriam, too, had gone quietly, in her sleep.

After we arrived at JFK on Thursday, October 11, we rented a car and drove straight to a hotel near Frances' funeral in New Jersey.  Peter's brother Jeff and his family met us there. We dressed, left the kids with a babysitter, and headed to the funeral.

The service was very simple.  Peter and Jeff's mom, Ellen, spoke, as did Peter and Jeff.  Brianne (Jeff's wife) and I read poems.  Here are the speeches Jeff and Peter gave, as well as the poem I read.  We cried, some loudly, some quietly, but we also smiled and laughed.  My favorite moment—if one can say such a thing about a funeral—was when the rabbi was describing Frances' extraordinary achievements.  He spoke of her spirit and strength, about how she traveled the world to meet her grandsons, about how she lived independently for so many years. "She even did karate!" he exclaimed.

We (her family) all giggled a little as the rabbi had clearly misunderstood an aspect of Ellen's description of Frances' interests.  Frances did take pilates, even until very recently, but she would have enjoyed that some in the audience thought she was breaking boards in her free time.

After the service, we went to Ellen's cousin Jerry's home.  It was a beautiful fall day, warm in the sunshine, with leaves scattered across still-green lawns. When the sun set, we felt a chill in the air.

Unbelievably, we then went to a hotel nearby, where we met Richard and Susan (Peter's father and stepmother) and Peter's aunt, Cheryl, and her partner, Stu.  On Friday morning, we gathered with Richard's family for Miriam's service, at a different funeral home nearby.  This service was also very sad, though also warm and kind.   For some reason, I was the most touched by the anecdotes about Miriam and her three sisters, who spoke to each other every day.  Only one of them, Huvy, (Evelyn) is surviving.  The eldest, Rose, was one of Aviva's namesakes.  Peter and Jeff gave a lovely eulogy together.

After the rabbi spoke at the burial, one of Miriam's girlfriends spoke up, very briefly.  She and Miriam had been friends for more than 60 years, I think.  Sixty years.

At the luncheon afterwards, Richard gave a toast to his mother's life.  We looked at gorgeous black and white photos of a twenty-something Miriam and Bob (Peter's grandfather).  She, elegant and slender, he, a dashing soldier.

Both Frances and Miriam led long, wonderful lives, full of family and friends.  Aviva is lucky to have met two of her great-grandmothers, as am I.  What I wanted to say, at those very last moments in New Jersey—but I feared it seemed too self-centered—was thank you. Thank you, Frances and Miriam, for raising Ellen and Richard, just as they are, so that they could raise Peter, just as he is, so that he could help create Aviva, just as she is.