The weekend of the funeral came. I drove down with Uncle Marcel and Aunt Clara- my Grandpa Froc's brother and his wife. Or rather, they drove down with me, because I drove most of the way. haha. The trip was long, and I spent most of it trying not to think about what awaited me at home, and listening to the same "Classic Country Hits of the Fifties" CD about five times. If ANYONE tries to buy me that CD for Christmas, I WILL mail you an infectious disease.

The sibs were excited to see me when I walked in the house, but there was an unfamiliar heavy atmosphere inside. The older boys hugged me, but said little. Clay and Sarah were about normal, but a little quieter. Dad was at the chapel working to get things ready for the next day, and Mom was equally preoccupied between home and phone calls and meals. (Seriously, Mr. Pope? Make them honorary saints?)

On Friday night, all of us except Clay got dressed up and went to the funeral home for the viewing. In my opinion, a viewing is the worst idea ever. It's like a second funeral. Except worse because at this one you have to stare at a body while being serenaded by this awful medley of love songs in the style of an eighties' ballad.

I slid into the bench with my family, right behind Grandpa and Aunt Michelle (dad's sister), Uncle Marcel and Aunt Clara, and Auntie Sharon (grandma's sister). We sat there quietly, and I tried so hard not to look ahead. But I did. And there was Grandma. It reminded me of watching her sleep in her hospital bed. I waited and waited for her chest to rise and fall again. But it didn't.

It was probably like only an hour we were there, but it felt like an eternity. Grandpa had left, as had my dad's brother and sister. My mom turned to me. "Do you want to go up and see her?" I shook my head, wide-eyed. "Honey, you need to." I gingerly left my seat and followed my parents. The woman in the casket kind of looked like my grandma, and logically I knew of course it was, but... it was just a shell. There was no life, no spirit in that body. It wasn't really Grandma.

The next morning the kids all woke up, only to discover both of our parents were gone. In a panic, I called both of the cell phones, hoping and praying they hadn't taken off and gotten in some horrible accident. (That's me. Anxiety Girl. Jumping to the worst conclusions in a single bound.) They were both doing last minute prep at church. We got dressed. No one really ate lunch. We headed to the church.

Having never attended a funeral before, I wasn't sure what to expect. But it was really nice. Dozens of bouquets of flowers were everywhere from people that knew our family, and even some that just cared about my immediate family. The chapel was packed to the gills with people, and we actually had to put up a tent and run live video to it to accomodate everyone that came. We sat in the first row, right in front of the pulpit.  Auntie Sharon gave Grandma's eulogy. Daddy gave a beautiful talk. Then I sang. I knew I was going to have to sing ages ago, because my grandparents had both mentioned it. I'd never really given it much thought though. There was a song that my mum had said Grandma requested, but I didn't know it. Instead, I had the feeling that I should sing this: