I first heard that Grandpa had died at 7pm on Friday. As it happened, I had an offer from fizit to join her at the Japanese baths anyway, so I went there and talked about Grandpa and grieving and loss with her and bunnikins and eyeofbast. That was soothing and comforting, thanks guys.
I went home and wrote poetry and booked a flight to Sydney for the funeral. Mum said not to worry about rushing up, so I booked it for Sunday morning.
Saturday I spent tidying the house and writing more poetry. I find music an incredible comfort. I found a particular song going around in my head, so I played the tape Jonathan made me ages ago with it on. I played the soundtrack to Three Colours: Blue, Kieslowski’s beautiful movie about grief. I played Train to Okinawa, the duet album from Riley Lee (shakahachi flute) and Peter Grayling (cello). I played Jeff Buckley’s Grace.
I e‑mailed Jonathan asking if he’d play that song for Grandpa on the show (“Becoming something other” by Chris Knox). (Thanks for doing that, Jonathan, and for the dedication – “For an old sabre-rattler who passed away this week” – very appropriate and much appreciated).
I went to sleazemonkey’s birthday party on Saturday night. I spent a lot of it just staring into space, but the fairy bread was good and I enjoyed watching the food fight. Happy birthday, babe.
I spoke to Brandon on the phone when I got home and told him what was happening.
Sunday was spent preparing Grandma’s place for the funeral crowd the next day. Comforting Mum and Grandma, talking with my Aunt. Tried to keep calm in the midst of the usual familial stress. Bought Dad a father’s day present. In the afternoon, the rabbi came around to talk to us about Grandpa and try to get an idea of what we wanted him to say. We exchanged memories and talked about him. That was good. I hadn’t realised he and Grandma played Scrabble every day for most of the 65 years they were married.
Got the train down to Woonona to have dinner with Brandon, which was really good. We went for a walk to the beach and I told him about Grandpa and let some of the tension of the day ebb away. In the morning, we went for the briefest walk on another beach, right outside Brandon’s house, and it was the best way to start the day.
Train back to Artarmon, calm as anything, looking out the window at the ocean and the national park near Stanwell Tops, peaceful and ready. Went to the cemetery and stood outside the ohel, people I barely knew walking up to me and wishing me long life, old friends and extended family coming up and hugging me. My old, dear friend Joseph, who’s now a cantor, held me tight and that was wonderful. My cousin Vanessa and my second cousin Joanna were a strength too.
The service was amazingly good for a religious service. Rabbi Lampert is the old rabbi I grew up with, and he spoke beautifully about Grandpa, using all the bits of information we’d given him. I was also amazed that the rabbi changed the text so that every time the traditional text said ‘men’, Rabbi said “mortals” and every time it said “he” he changed the sentence around so it either said “we” or “they”. Even more incredibly, he changed every reference to “Lord” to either “God” or “Adonai”. We just had a service with an ungendered god!!!!! Joseph sang beautifully and I’m so glad it was him doing it.
We then went to the graveside and lowered the coffin. My mother, aunt and grandmother recited the mourner’s kaddish and the rabbi tossed the traditional three shovels of soil onto the coffin. Then he offered the shovel to my grandmother, mother and aunt to do the same. This is another tradition historically only available to men… I took the shovel in my turn and put my three scoops of dirt onto the coffin. What a hard task, and what a firm and final sense of closure.
Vanessa and I walked back together, quietly discussing the day. Back at Grandma’s, with 23 people for lunch, we grandkids did our best to keep out of the way until it was time to clean up and then we took over the kitchen. Grandma needed space, so after we’d packed off the visitors and Mum and Aunty Joan had gone, my sisters, Melanie and Selena, Selena’s husband Mark, Vaness and Joanna and I headed for the pub to have our own little wake, toss back a few whiskeys for the old man and celebrate his life, as Brandon keeps saying. We spoke about books with secret compartments that Grandpa made for us; about the world map with pins in all the cities he’d visited that we used to mischievously alter when we stayed there as children; about playing hide and seek and getting in trouble for turning the light on in the cupboard under the stairs where all the wine was kept; about the scent of disinfectant in the downstairs bathroom and Grandpa’s Interdens that he had shipped in from America; about his collections of everything – Japanese dolls, haggadahs, you name it. That was really good, not only for that, but just for good discussions about a lot of things in our lives.
We went back to Grandma’s thinking we had an hour before the minyan started, but with people turning up early, we ended up scoffing dinner in the kitchen and then helping lay out cakes. Mostly people I didn’t know this time, but that was okay. Grandma lit the shiva candle and the rabbi – Rabbi Kolya, this time, a woman I’d never met – was wonderful, again a non-gendered service, although very religious, she picked up quickly that Grandpa was culturally jewish but agnostic and highlighted the parts of the service that wished for peace in the world and harmony between nations. My aunt made a speech about Grandpa, my mother read Mary Frye’s “Do not stand at my grave and weep”, Selena spoke about how Grandpa’s book binding had encouraged her to become a conservator, I spoke a little and read the poems I wrote and Vanessa spoke and then sang “Summertime” in her gorgeous voice. It was beautiful and perfect.
There were minor stresses during the day, from the usual and expected quarters, and I didn’t let them get to me. It was the best send off it could have been, I think. Good bye, Grandpa, we’ll miss you.