My grandfather, William Francis LaFreniere Jr., passed away on Friday, April 24th, 2009. He was 94, almost 95 (May 10.) His age and full life tempered my sorrow. I actually didn't know him very well. I always wanted to, but despite my efforts, it never came to pass. I went to his funeral which was held in North Kingstown, Rhode Island. I had never been to a funeral before and I am very glad that I went. The entire process is healing to me. I enjoyed seeing him one last time; however before the viewing I couldn't decide if I wanted to go in. I couldn't decide if I wanted my last memory of him to be in a casket. I went in nonetheless, and thankfully the other memories I have of him are the most prominent. Like him carrying on about the weather, the heating bills, and baseball. I remember all the cuckoo clocks on the wall at his house on the hill; which I found out from my Uncle Jimmy was on Clock St. I remember Lil. I remember always receiving a birthday card from him with a short note signed love Poppa. I remember how much he repeatedly said 'damn' and what a spitfire he could be. I remember him in his chair at his house on Ten Rod Rd watching baseball on TV and the crossword book on his kitchen table. I remember how much he loved birds. Isn't it funny the things you remember? Anyway, me and my sister met at the airport in Providence, RI and proceeded to the funeral home for the wake. It was a little awkward, but we had to introduce ourselves to our own family. My mom had two uncles and although I have virtually no memory of them as much as they look like Poppa, especially Richard, there was no mistaking who they were. As soon as we introduced ourselves it got a little crazy. We were introduced to so many family members it soon got to the point where I was thinking to myself, which one are you again? Although it might seem trivial to meet all this family that you will probably never see again, to me it was wonderful. John, Jimmy's son, was especially considerate and welcoming. It was wonderful to me because it made me feel closer to my mother. I imagine each one of those people has a trait that was once hers. It made the hole in my heart for my mom a tad bit smaller; getting to talk to her brothers made me feel like I knew her better, in a weird sort of way. Can you tell I really miss my mom?? This trip made me realize just how much. Anyway, Elliott was with us and although I was very hesitant to bring him, he was very well behaved and often was a good distraction from some of the more somber moments. It's hard not to smile at a cute baby. The next day was the funeral and we met at the funeral home at 8:45am for another viewing. After the viewing and our last farewells Poppa was carried in procession to the St. Bernard Church where his priest delivered a very good sermon. I personally was distracted at the church by how much noise my son was making and had trouble concentrating. My sister was a tremendous help. She helped me care for Elliott and was much more patient than I would have been. After the sermon we drove in procession to the Elmgrove Cemetery. After the pallbearers placed Poppa on the ground the priest said another prayer and the military honor procession began (Poppa was a WWII veteran.) There were three of them dressed in uniform. They fired several shots and then folded the flag that was draped over Poppa's casket and presented it to my Uncle Richard. Then a solider played Taps on the horn. It was beautiful and I remember hearing all the sniffles from the crowd, mine included. The temperature was warm and the wind was blowing hard. It was early afternoon. Then people began to chatter amongst themselves and mosey around the gravesite. Mom is buried just in front of Poppa and people were standing on top of mom's gravestone, which made me shudder. Lots of pictures were taken and after about 15 minutes I remember Poppa's little sister saying real loud and clear for everyone to hear "Whatever!" Apparently, this is a phrase my Poppa used frequently. Everyone laughed. It was very appropriate. Then we all left the cemetery and headed to the church fellowship hall for lunch and a respite from the somber mood at the cemetery. Lunch was catered from the Homestead, which is where Poppa always took us for clam chowder when we came to visit. After lunch we headed to Poppa's house. It was weird being there without him; with all his personal things around us. That afternoon was good though. My uncles, aunts, and most all of their children were there and we all sat around telling stories about Poppa, flipping through photo albums, and generally getting to know each other. Throughout the rest of the day I heard people saying "whatever" and laughing, which always made me smile and a little sad too, but I imagine it is just how Poppa would have wanted it.