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25 Oct

I’ve been following The Crazy Baby Mama for a few months now, primarily because she makes me laugh in that way that I fear the Powers that Be at work will overhear, promptly taking away my Internet privileges.

Today, she made me tear up with an absolutely beautiful tribute to her grandmother.

I’m a lucky gal. I still have both of my grandmothers. Heck, I still have all four of my grandparents. At 27, that is nothing short of miraculous.

In fact, I’ve only ever attended two funerals. The first was a memorial service five years ago. The second was Friday, for my beau’s grandmother.

At his grandfather’s after, the family talked about her. They looked at photos. Grandpa handed me a framed 8×10 black and white, him and this then girlfriend at 23 and 22 years old. There was a car in the background with “1940” on the license plate. They looked like a gangster and his gal, Friday.

They looked like moviestars.

I’d never met Clela (how’s that for an  unusual name? Apparently, only 202 Clelas exist in the U.S.), and I felt I’d somehow missed out.

Later this weekend, I was putting something in the freezer at the beau’s. I saw tiny plastic containers in the back, and I remember the beau had told me he still had some of Grandma’s jam frozen. The two containers have been there for a few years. I pulled one out. It had written on it “not to good.”

The jam, the beau and his entire family told me, was always good. It was always very good. But Grandma, apparently, was a perfectionist.

I’m very sorry for your loss, Crazy Baby Mama, though I’m sure your grandmother would adore your tribute to her.

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