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  • When my grandmother died, they buried her in a garish mint "Irish green" casket although lavender was her lifelong favorite color. It evolved into an huge argument despite the fact that she had in effect planned her funeral for decades, at volume, at every,Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter gathering I ever attended. I'd never heard a color beyond lavender mentioned by her and was surprised my grandfather had run so very rogue. It was also the only time I ever saw my grandfather sober, for her funeral. On that day, he listed around like a sailor on the 1st day back to shore after years at sea. Always equilibrium issues.

    My father told me years later that, though no longer Catholic, said the 10,000 Hail Marys for her in the car on his daily LA commute. "It can weigh in favor of the souls left in purgatory and help send them on to Heaven", he said. He also mentioned it was the least he could do considering....
    I love him too much to pry into his "considerations" in regards to his mother. I do remember all those years he suffered as her favorite of the four kids, a never guarded secret by her, and an awkward cross for all her adult children, gathered at her table, to bear.
    My grandmother would often tell me that when she and I were in Heaven we'd be a country music band, dressed in lavender sequins, singing for the Lord. He would of course love this. When it was clear I was tone deaf, I became the drummer.
    Clearly love is convoluted, requiring exhaustive measures and formulas for most of us. Or Faith. Simple Faith.
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