G.G. Mil

G's grandmother died New Year's Day. We knew it wouldn't be long. What is the general rule of thumb? Three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks/months without food?

Mil's "cremains," a gruesome word that sounds as if it should have a registered trademark following it, are sitting on our counter waiting to be brought down to Everglades City today, where she asked to be scattered in Everglades National Park, among the Ten Thousand Islands. We had planned a small, quiet service, but since Mildred was a beloved mayor of E-City years ago, the service has taken on a life of its own. Mil would have pooh poohed all the fuss, but she would secretly be very pleased with all the attention.

We don't hide death from our kids, we want them to accept that it's a very natural part of life. Cremation though, is a little tricky to explain to a four year old. "How can G.G. Mil fit inside that little tube?" "What happens if someone sees us dumping her and thinks we're littering?"

Here's how we will remember her...