“Now the grandchildren will come with reflections.”

I gradually move, and register that since there are six of us, and I am the next to youngest, I will not have to speak first. I move aside as my three cousins and older brother pass me to ascend the five short stairs of the alter. We all slowly pass the vibrant flowers, and greenery similar to those my Grandmother loved to garden. But we pass her silver casket the quickest, in denial that it is still there, that we are still here.
“Michaela” My younger brother, Jonathan, bumps my shoulder and whispers to me.

“What?” I try not to be annoyed, he is suffering just as much as I am, he was her “Jon Jon.”
                             We ascend Step 1
“I can’t find your speech.”

“What?!?” Despite my limited vocabulary, my mind is racing. He could not be referring to the speech I worked on until 1 o’clock this morning. The one I poured my heart and soul into. The one I gave to him outside of the funeral home so that I did not have to read it on my phone, which I thought was disrespectful. The speech he told me that he had downloaded.
         

My thoughts consume me through Steps 2 and 3.
But, of course, it was that speech, “What am I supposed to do?” I demand of him.

                                    Step 4

In his signature irrational and immature calm he answers, “Wing it.”
             In stunned silence we make it to the altar.

We line up and I realize that I am the 4th person in line to speak. I stood there not knowing whether to choke Jonathan or cry. I quickly decide on neither, and begin to gather material for my speech. I would only have this one chance.
                                                                         

Speech 1
My oldest cousin begins the reflections. I focus specifically on her description of Helen, the master cook.

I remember one of the few times we received a package. Mail is a rare occurrence at our house, so Jonathan and I raced to see what it beheld, and we were satisfied with its pieces of Carmel cake and other precious goods from Grandma’s kitchen.
We had visited our Grandmother just a couple of weeks before, and she had promised us some of her renowned delicacies. In her small cottage in the woods, where she had raised her 7 children, she planted most of her vegetables. Her garden was right outside of the tool shed which was across from the house. Green trees, shrubs, arches, and a few flowers adorned the yard. There was also an occasional rocking chair or bench in the few acres of land my Grandmother owned, which was passed on from her father. The history fascinated me, and the greenery was ethereal since we lived in an Atlanta suburb. But the true magic happened in her cramped kitchen, where her children and grandchildren adorned the walls, refrigerator, and desks. Here, she would provide neighbors, church members, and her family with dressing, Carmel Cake, collard greens, and etc. The dressing catches my attention as my Mother knew the recipe and cooked it each Thanksgiving. The Carmel Cake recipe had no such successor-I wish I had inquired of it while she was here-but if it couldn’t survive, I would make sure the dressing did.

Speech 2
The previous cousin’s sister speaks of Helen-who always knew what we were doing.

This applied to me, as the dancer of the family, in a unique way. During one of our visits my Grandmother approaches me with a catalog.

“Which one do you like the most?”

I look in the catalog, curious, and see that it is full of leotards. I study ballet, yet the leotards she was looking at were for gymnasts. Close enough, I suppose, and cleverly talk her away from the buy. She always tried to keep up with our activities and dreams.  I have many birthday cards from the woman, and received clothes often at Christmas. Every recital we sent her a picture, and it always warmed my heart to find it somewhere in her cottage in the woods.

Speech 3

My older brother speaks on Helen’s stubbornness.

“Why would he use this example?” I think to myself.

I thought that her inability to be flexible with plans, beliefs, or opinions was one of her worst qualities. In fact, her stubbornness was legendary. Even after her first stroke it was in full effect. I will never forget how I found my birth-book mark on her desk in her bedroom. I showed it off prominently

“Hey, look what I found!”

I cannot remember exactly what she said, but it was to the effect to place the bookmark where it was and not move her stuff; as it was “fine where it is.”

Dumfounded at this curt remark, I look to my mother as she smiles-this was the real Helen I had been told about.

Speech 4

Oh nuts, it is my turn to speak. I look out the audience and see among them her 7 children, now middle aged with families of their own. Each grew up in a predominantly white town with a mother as a maid for the “other side of the train tracks.” But she encouraged them to never settle for less, told them that they were just as good as anyone else, and this they passed down to their own children. This old woman was stubborn to the very end, and went on her next adventure on her own terms. Her 85 years were filled with struggles that forced her to work hard to support her family, and she gained the respect of everyone here in the process.

I walk to the microphone and look to Jonathan, now conflicted on whether to choke him of hug him. I look up with tears, aware of my Grandmother’s fire and strength. Now, I truly miss her stern but frank words, even though I swore not to get emotional.

But it is in this moment I have reflected, I realize what I have lost, and now know what to say.