and apparently this is funeral season.
We got the call that my great-aunt Isabel passed away. It wasn’t a tremendous shock; she was 90, and even healthy 90-year-olds are not the most sturdy people. Her passing is sad, of course, but she lived a long, full, happy life, and we at least got to spend her birthday with her.
However, the timing could have been better. This is Anya’s third funeral in two years. It’s getting to the point where when when we mention a relative she’s not immediately acquainted with, she asks if they are dead, too.
It also doesn’t help that Mimi has been struggling to kick this kid crud so she can get back on the biologics for her RA. Anya is terrified that Mimi will instead get really sick and go back into the hospital; after all, she’s suffering the same symptoms she had when she (unknowingly) had walking pneumonia. And my girl misses nothing; she knows Mimi should be well by now. So she needs daily assurance that Mimi is alive and well and not in the hospital. In her world, people die with little to no warning, and there’s usually a hospital involved. Which renders hospitals suspect, even though not all hospitalizations end in death. (I am forbidden to to into the hospital, for instance. Even though last time I came home and brought her beloved baby brother with me. She remains unconvinced that hospitals don’t kill more people than they heal.)
On a more personal, less serious note, this trip also coincides with the expected arrival of my second postpartum period. So I have stocked up on black clothes, and am as always grateful that I opted for the heated leather seats in the Mummamobile — they’ll make the 5-hour drive infinitely more comfortable.
I’m glad of one aspect of the timing: That the funeral is before Anya’s birthday. It will definitely help that we’re coming back to two full days of celebration. Plus two full days of pre-K. She’ll be busy, with fun things. That always helps when you’re sad.
So I am telling myself, anyway.
RIP, Isabel. You will be missed.