I said goodbye to my Grandma Jane this weekend.  She passed away in January, and my family, who are not big on funerals per se, held a memorial for her up in Maine which I missed due to the blizzard, and one here in New York this past Sunday.  Friends and family gathered to tell stories, recount memories, and just to say goodbye. 

She lived in New York for many years, and ever since she moved to Maine, she complained about how provincial the people in her apartment complex always seemed.  "They’ve never been anywhere," she’d groan.  Having been a travel agent for a good portion of her life, Grandma Jane had been everywhere, and first class, no less.  She would tell great stories of her luxurious travel on the Concorde and the QE2, and the exquisite hotels in which she had stayed.  "It’s just not the same these days."  Well, certainly not for me when I travel, Grandma. 

She missed New York tremendously — she yearned for "the hustle and bustle of the city."  Ironically, she is now back in New York, in a predominantly German-Jewish cemetery out in Brooklyn.  There is a whole stretch of cemeteries out underneath the elevated subway tracks of the J line, and although the gates and exteriors of each one were somewhat run-down, there was something beautiful about them nonetheless, especially in contrast with the bright, crisp blue sky.  We drove out yesterday to place her ashes in her family mausoleum, which, although creepy, was quite beautiful, with a stained glass window across from the ornately gated door.  Probably not the scene she was searching for, but she did make it back to the city she loved so much.  As a last thought, as our family turned to leave, we joked that it would be quite fitting if we left her with the New York Times crossword, which she did regularly.  Luckily, I had the Sunday magazine in my bag.  We ripped out the puzzle, placed it next to the box that contained her ashes, and wished her luck.  We’ll miss you, Grandma.