Life is a carnival.
I attended my 91-year old granddaddy's funeral yesterday, and even though he was so old, and so very loved, and had lived such an incredibly full life, I couldn't quite comprehend his death, his total absence from this earthly place. My Granddaddy was a constant in my life for as long as I can remember, and today I am once again home with my children, with the sounds of Sponge Bob in the background, with my dog licking my toes and chasing his chewed up tennis ball, and my Granddaddy is no more.
I was struck this morning by the absurdity and magic of it all at the same time. The last time I spoke with him was ten days ago during one of his brief moments of lucidity before his death. My mother held the phone up to his ear and he said, "Hi there Baby Jen... how's my baby?" I'm forty and the mother of two, but to Granddaddy I was Baby Jen no matter what. And the sound of those adorable words brought me back to being the little girl that I always was with him. My Granddaddy was the father of three daughters, and when his first grandaughter was born in the form of Baby Jen, I think he had once again found his calling. He was a grandfather and great grandfather to many, and each of us were sure of being his special favorite, as was I. His funeral was beautiful and tragic, and I blubbered my way through a remembrance of him to the audience in the church, which surly didn't come near to doing him justice. My greatest deed was naming my second headstrong, determined son after his headstrong, determined great grandfather. When I called my Granddaddy from Italy to tell him that we had named our baby Dana, he cried. Like the true man he was.
And then today life with all of its meaningful and meaningless moments goes on. It's as if the ferris wheel has made another turn, and just continues on to another unstoppable ride around the that neverending circle. Tragic and magical. Sweet and insignificant.