My grandmother, my dad's mom, was the kind of woman that never wanted anyone to make a fuss over her. She didn't want a big funeral, memorial, 'celebration of life' (she rolled her eyes at that one), or anything of the sort. She wanted a simple graveside service with family and close friends present.
She got her wish.
It was chilly, but not uncomfortably cold. There was snow on the ground, but it wasn't snowing, nor was it windy. It was the best weather we could have hoped for in the midst of a snowy season. Given the privacy behind the service, it was remarkably well attended. There was no general announcement, but everyone that was told was in attendance. There was concern that her peers would refrain based on how cold it had been, but they all came and the weather relaxed for the occasion.
During a quiet moment, a flock of geese honked madly overhead. It was amusing, but it was also the perfect segue into the seagull story.
I was a small boy, and my grandmother had taken me to a nearby department store. It was attached to a quiet little mall that was dying, so the parking lot was mostly empty. I sat up front in her little truck, and there was a flock of seagulls sitting around, waiting for some discarded scraps.
She turned the truck toward them and gunned it.
My parents drove like they were afraid of the road, so the sudden acceleration was as surreal as the explosion of terrified birds fluttering in every direction. She did that more than once, but it was hilarious every time.
I'm gonna miss that woman.
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