On March 31, my maternal grandmother died.

Today was her funeral. (Technically April 9, since it’s a little after midnight)

As I write this, I am sitting in my aunt and uncle’s basement recollecting about the day. For the first time, in a long time, the family was together again. And, though, the circumstances of our gathering were anything but pleasing–the support and love surrounding us all was immense. (Photo: Charlie, Nana and me on Butler graduation day. May 2009)

Nana had been sick for a long time. Dementia. Alzheimer’s—what an awful disease. She had no idea who I was anymore–not just me–the whole family. Nana came to live in Indianapolis in the fall of 2008. My mom visited her at the nursing home almost every single day. As time passed, Nana got worse. My mom told me not to go visit with her. “I don’t want you to remember your grandmother this way…” she’d tell me. “Just remember the good times.” I came across pictures of Nana on my mom’s phone one day. Nana was frail, in a wheelchair, her brown curls turned flat and white, face was gaunt—but boy, she never stopped smiling.  I ached for my mom.

The funeral was beautiful. The flowers; the number of guests who paid their respects. Though I am one of six grandchildren, I felt so honored and grateful for having known my grandmother and the person she was.  Charlie read Psalm 23. My cousin, Mark, spoke on behalf of the grandchildren–reminiscing about memories with Nana. Then my mom got up and spoke on behalf of the family. She was peaceful, positive and poised. I was so proud of her. At the close, a friend of Nana’s sang “On Eagles Wings” and people joined in on the chorus. My dad and two uncles, along with Charlie and my two male cousins were pallbearers. It was moving and emotional.

This was my first family funeral. Though Nana’s death was not necessarily a surprise—it didn’t make the passing any easier. I had many thoughts and questions running through my head that I wanted to share with Nana, so I decided to write her a letter. The night before the funeral, I did just that. I expressed my sadness, memories of joy, my love for her, but also how selfish I felt for wishing she was still here. I put the letter in an envelope and wrote “Nana” on the outside. Today, I slipped it next to her while the casket was open. Knowing that it is buried with her, and will be read by her only, offers me closure.

In closing, Nana’s death was extremely sad, but my mom and Aunt Sue thought of it different. My aunt brought about 25 decorative butterflies to the funeral today. We pinned them to the flowers surrounding the room and on the casket. I asked “What’s the deal with the butterflies?” My mom responded, “For so long, Nana’s spirit was cooped-up in this deteriorating body and she was unable to escape. But now, she has finally immersed from her cocoon and is able to spread her wings. The butterflies represent Nana.”

Rest in peace, Nana. You lived a long, wonderful life and were loved by so many. I love you.

Obituary