There were about 40 people at Aunt Claire's funeral. Just a few other relatives were there: cousins Charlie Renz and Joe Byrne and their wives; Tom and Helen with their, son, Tom; cousin John and me. Sonya Driscoll and her son came, of course. Sonya is the daughter of the man for whom Uncle Frank worked as a farmer and handyman so long ago, and she's been a good friend to them ever since. Sonya, who still lives in the big house on that farm in Plymouth Meeting, lost her husband to a heart condition a few years ago. Ironically, he was a cardiologist.
There were three choices for lunch and I had the salmon. That's the third day in a row I had salmon, but so what? I like it a lot and, while this wasn't as good as Alison's, it was pretty tasty.
After lunch, Tom, Helen, John, and I (along with a few Spratts, Aunt C.'s nieces and nephews), went back to the assisted living facility to remove some of what was left. I took another of Uncle Frank's paintings, and a few other things. Although my SIL, Mike, had lent me his roof rack, nobody thought it was a good idea to try to transport the bureau I wanted on the roof. Luckily, the maintenance director came along and said he'd store it until I could come for it. I'm going to ask Joel if he can take me there with his van and get it.
Didn't get home until almost 5:00 and boy, I was ready to just relax. I was getting Pat's dinner when Patrick called to wish him happy birthday. Pat said Natsue came on and said, "Happy Birthday," which she's been practicing for some time. Sweet girl.
I called Mary Ann Van O. and asked if she'd like to take Barb's place on the "Historic Homes Van Ride" we signed up for tomorrow. She was delighted, and will come with Susan and me.
I have a lot of energy, but last night, I was tired. I slept like a log, but before I did, I thought of Aunt Claire. She lived for 97 years and although she had suffered some real tragedies, she had always risen above them. From all accounts and from what I remember, her years at Artman were happy ones. She participated fully in activities until just a short time ago and didn't seem to dwell in the past.
Aunt Claire was laid out in a pretty pink suit and she looked very nice. What brought several people close to tears--including me--was the pin in her lapel. Judy, the daughter she had lost, had given it to her when she was a little girl. It read, "Mother."
What a bitch life is sometimes.