But is there ever really a normal?
We've had a hard weekend. Saying goodbye is never easy.
We ended up taking the casket arrangement's flowers up to the internment the next day. Just like for my grandmother's funeral, we placed flowers on top of the urn as it was placed in the ground. We each took a handful of dirt and tossed it in along with the flowers. My aunt had done just that same thing at her mother's internment so there was symmetry there.
We did have some fun looking through family photos in preparation for the funeral. This might be one of my favorites. That's my aunt on the left, my brother is the little one in front (probably not older than 6), my cousin behind him. My dad is the one with the gun (which is hysterical because he was so not a gun toter), then my mom and a 12 year old me. My brother was very unhappy with the whole picture taking operation, so that scowl is not just for the character of the picture! It's him being really annoyed with us.
What I love about my family is our roots. Both of my mom's parents are from northern Missouri, from very small towns. Our family cemetery is up there, about three hours north of Kansas City. There's something soothing about going to the same place where my ancestors are buried. My grandma's family actually homesteaded the county back in the 1880s. There are members of that family going back to that time, all buried here. It's very neat.
We talked about purchasing more plots near our family plot, because they're only $20 a piece! Can you believe that? We might end up doing it sometime. Because the idea of all my family being in this one place, so peaceful, so quiet, up on a hill in northern Missouri, surrounded by farm land, just seems right.