I miss you.

An 80 year old died a week or so ago. She was a fiery red-head who danced at my graduation party, also my wedding to myself. She was a wonderful person who helped many people, but was never taken advantage of. She would tell people exactly what she thought. She refused to go to a restaurant she was not able to smoke in. She told me she loved me for the first time a couple months ago.
I wonder if she knew. Somewhere deep down, maybe she was aware. She gave items away to her children, she signed her house off a year ago, she stopped paying her life insurance, due to expire in 2013. She was alive, and then she needed triple bypass surgery.
Her last words were in a somewhat nagging, somewhat sarcastic tone, "Just so you know, I didn't want to do this." She rarely told people that she loved them. I remember one time on the phone with her, she thought I was my dad. I corrected her, and told her that he would call back. I said I love you. She said, "uh huh." But in November she told me she loved me.
It's strange to think that 3 weeks ago she was dancing at my party, and last week I attended her funeral.
They played "Old Time Rock and Roll" after the church service. She had been telling people to play it for 10 years. I'm glad they did.
I carried her casket, and almost tripped over a headstone. Out of the 6 of us carrying her, I think only 3 of us were effected, the other three just along for the ride.
It's a shame family only get together for funerals and weddings. That's why I will still go to the family rituals she forced us to keep going to. I'm happy I had a graduation party now. We were all together. She got to see everyone happy before she passed.
There are so many stories to tell. I know only a fraction of all the stories there. What I have is golden. She was an awesome person, invincible in my eyes. I was crushed to see her dead, but she still looked good as ever.
Here's to Grandma Radebaugh.
Here's to Aunt Honey.