RIP Jean Rittmaster May 10, 1918 – November 14, 2009

We buried Bubbie today. It’s been an incredibly emotional few days. The words and notes of support from family and friends have been wonderful. Jonathan doesn’t really understand what’s going on – just lots of people around and disruptions in his schedule (though getting to spend some fun time with Aunt Mo this afternoon was a treat). But Mikaela is struggling with all of this. At first, she just tried to ignore that Bubbie had died. She wanted to pretend that nothing different had happened, she even wanted to go to Sunday School on Sunday. But she left Sunday school about 15 minutes early, as the reality of it all hit her, at which point she also decided that she wanted to come to the funeral. After the funeral, Mikaela turned to Miriam and said, “I just want to go home and go over to Cannon’s house to play and forget all of this.”

All of the grandkids spoke at the funeral. Corey and Matt and Greg all spoke beautifully. I had an unusually difficult time figuring out what to say. You can read the full text of what I wrote after the jump.

It’s rare that I find myself at a loss for words. But as I sat down to write the words I would say now, I was overwhelmed with such a flood of memories of Bubbie that it was impossible to pick out individual stories or find a coherent narrative. I’m left with sense impressions – flashes of images, snippets of sound, whiffs of smells.

Some of the images that keep hitting me seem so inconsequential – a plaque that hung on the wall in the house on Oak that said, “Don’t criticize the coffee, you may be old and weak yourself some day,” but hints at Bubbie’s sense of humor. And then the sound of Bubbie’s bubbling laugh fills my head.

I heard the sounds last night of Bubbie’s great-grandchildren playing together, and was taken back to Sunday afternoons at Bubbie’s house. Images of playing games with my brothers – all of the games that were for us to play with, arranged together on the bottom shelf of the bookcase in the hall; followed by the sound of Bubbie reminding us that the game wasn’t over until all of the pieces had been put away properly.

I emptied the dishwasher, and put away the longest knife in the drawer. It’s truly an amazing knife – long and straight and amazingly sharp. It was Bubbie’s brisket knife. Bubbie gave it to Miriam when Miriam was helping her clean out her kitchen for the move to Village Shalom. I can’t see that knife without smelling Bubbie’s barbeque brisket.

I caught up on my online newsfeeds this morning, and missed the sound and smell of newsprint. I learned to read the newspaper cover to cover from watching Bubbie do it (Dad tends to get short-stopped by the crossword puzzle). Thanks to Bubbie, I think I was the only fourth-grader in my class who regularly read the Metro section of the Kansas City Star.

Bubbie was watching the news on TV when I brought Mikaela and Jonathan over to visit for what turned out to be the last time. She turned it off to turn her attention to the kids. Jonathan gave her one of his patented linebacker-tackle hugs, and Bubbie just giggled about it. Mikaela gave her a hug and a kiss, and then led Jonathan in singing “You Are My Sunshine” for Bubbie. And the smile Bubbie had on her face as they finished, I think that’s the image I’m going to treasure most of all.