Inspired by @ListPrompts
  1. You knew you were in trouble when my maternal grandmother pulled you aside for a Mimi Talk.
  2. But she'd often whisper in my ear, "you're the most like me." She was spunky, straight forward, loving and a fantastic cook.
  3. She ended up getting dementia and losing her ability to cook her heirloom recipes. She sorrowfully looked at me one day saying, "I forget how to make those."
  4. It was pouring rain and cold the day of my Mimi's funeral. We waited in our cars on the graveled roads that snaked around the Jewish section of the cemetery in Montgomery, Alabama. It was like an odd carpool lane.
  5. The windows fogged up. The kids asked questions. We waited.
  6. The rain poured so hard the ground couldn't hold anymore water. It was muddy, slippery, dangerous they said. They wouldn't let our family carry her casket.
  7. Eventually we all got out of our cars and gathered beneath a tent at the end furthest away from where she was being buried... Next to my Grandpa. They wouldn't let us near.
  8. The cemetery workers, these strangers, who looked like Duck Dynasty, carried her instead. We stood on our tiptoes 30 or 40 feet away. I heard an older relative tisk tisk. My mom and her siblings looked on resigned to the fact this is how the funeral was going to happen for their "mommy."
  9. "Stay back," the funeral director kept saying.
  10. I looked around at my family, eyes sad, accepting of these rules meant to protect us. I guess. From what? I thought. Mud, getting dirty, slipping too close to where Mimi's casket should be?
  11. It seemed lonely to me. Lonely for Mimi to be carried by strangers with us far away like we were the strangers.
  12. So I took a step. And then another. I walked past my mom and her siblings, past the funeral director and stood at the edge closest to Mimi.
  13. And that's when everyone began to move forward. Closer to the edge. Closer to each other. Closer to Mimi.