Good for Bryan though. One day he'll be like us.

Since Friday, I wanted to take pictures of the 21 gun salute. I just read that that is what the "layman" refers to it as, but I didn't catch what it's actually called. My grandfather wanted a full military funeral. He got it. I wanted to take pictures of it the second I heard it was happening.

I didn't take those pictures. I didn't think it would be... like it was. It was... heartbreaking. It's really beautiful. These old guys, these veterns, they come, uniforms pressed, and they shoot the rifles. 21 shots total. It's loud. It's really loud. You have no idea how loud it is until it happens. This was the only point where smiling at Grandma didn't work. I couldn't, you know? You can't. You can't take pictures either. It's not something you can take a picture of unless... unless that's your job. Unless you don't know the vetern. I have a casing. I think that's what they called it. From one of the shots. All the grandchildren got one. I almost didn't get one, I'm guessing because I'm a woman. A girl. A granddaughter. But I spoke up, made sure I got one.

And... and it's really heartbreaking. There really is no other word. It's very loud. Almost louder than Grandma sobbing. That was it, man. That killed me. Not a dry eye in the house, not even me. "Stone faced" is what Bryan and Amanda called me. I had tears welled up though, but I'll be damned if Grandma sees me cry. So I cleaned up my act. For her. I'm her bird, you know. I keep her laughing, I keep her looking on the bright side. And people will tell you just to let it go, let yourself cry, but I'm not going to do that. Sometimes, you have be to calm for everyone else. I get that from my Dad, I think.

And... you see your family. All of them. I saw old pictures. Lots of them. And I saw pictures from the McNeil side of the family. Grandma McNeil, Aunt Lolly, Grandma Jerko. It was good picture. I could hear Grandma McNeil laughing. It sounds like my laugh. Her cackle is now my cackle.

And... it's not something you can take a picture of.

None of these things, I don't think.

But... I know... The grandkids as pallbearers... that's a powerful image. All of us. 5 boys, 1 girl. I believe I am the first girl to carry a casket in the history of St. Peter and Paul Byzantine Catholic Church and of Pifer's Funeral Home. They were hesistant. I persisted. I'll be damned if I'm left out of that.

And... it was beautiful. The veterns were shaking with old age as they folded the flag. I offered myself and my brother to fold it -- we're trained you know. But that was for them. I'm glad they did it. It could have been done better.

And... the casket. It was a nice baby blue. Strange, I know, but I swear it was tasteful. The flag was wrapped around it, and I didn't feel any resentment. You don't at these times. George wanted it that way, and I'll be damned if I disrespect that. The flowers, they put them in front of the casket at the cemetary in some marble building. It was cold. The flower-- red roses. Red white and blue ribbons -- they looked good. I swear it wasn't cheesy. I swear I can't think of something more fitting. It was a beautiful service.



And... the day before, my Uncle Bowser, my Dad, my brother, and my cousin Nick went down to the Eagles to drink in honor of George in between viewings. I was told I couldn't come. Dad didn't think it was right -- I'm a girl. I was pissed. They got hammered and Bryan, my brother, said he felt more a part of the family than he ever has...

... He was also spilling his guts to everything. Got really emotional. Told his life story.

Boy can't hold his liquor.

Uncle Bowser said to me "I knew we should have taken you -- you know how to keep your mouth shut."

Felt good.