I speak to her children, her grandchildren, their chosen mates and their children. Eulogies are written from legacies, and Marie ‘G’ Harrison has a long one.

This past Friday when G left us behind on her way to the other side, she took with her the eternal mother, grandmother, guardian, stalwart fighter and protector, faithful wife, staff of life, support and guide: both spiritual and moral. She led her collected brood by teaching and setting the example with her daily life. She personally laid a path before their feet stone by stone, using her very soul for mortar.

G was opinionated and right and knew it. She was slow to change her mind, but when she did she never chose to remember or discuss her former views. Former views simply never happened and you had best NOT go there.

G was always ready for an adventure:any adventure. She received adventures with open arms. Her favorite words were, "Let’s go: Let’s do it." G never forgot an adventure: her mind was a clipper ship with all sails flying; swift and sharp to the very last day. Her cargo: memories and stories.

My G Adventure Story starts like this: We decided to share our combined birthdays with a Hot Air Balloon Ride. We were going to spend $250: all on us, just us for once.

Years later, G never missed a chance to tell the story of the balloon operator’s ingenious, spur of the moment, bright idea to lower two grandmothers into the top of an extra tall Virginia tree. He fancied that he would snap off a lovely tree top bouquet for us to carry back to the planet, now some 200 feet below viewed through, what looked like, thousands of tangled twisted branches.

The basket tipped.
The fiery furnace flared.
The balloon above us whipped and searched for balance.
That silly man continued to lean out and struggle with the tree top’s unyielding branch. The basket tipped and swayed all the more.

G’s eyes were wide, her knuckles white; gripping the sides of the gondola as she stared directly through the branches to earth below. She looked at my face: by now white with fear and building rage. My volcano mouth spewed forth molten sailor expletives demanding our re-entry into deep space, and forget the blankity blank tree top for God’s sake. Later, we landed without further mishap and neither of us ever discussed a repeat, or Heaven forbid, a tradition of annual birthday balloon rides. We all know G loved and kept traditions.

As you, her children and grandchildren, set about the difficult task of going through years of her accumulated possessions, every jot and tittle will have a story, her story, about each of you or someone here with us today or perhaps gone on before. Yes, even every painted egg in the glass bowl by the fireplace has a story all its own.

And so now, G, with open arms, lifted up, we bid you farewell on this your next and grandest adventure into what and where is yet unknown to all of us and now so very clear to you: all your dangling questions are answered. What peace that must be.

If that place, that light filled, golden place, isn’t exactly like you planned it would be;I am certain that you will never make mention of your former opinions to the present owner or any of the residents therein. It just never happened.

Farewell G, and high flying. You will always be the light in the window of our hearts. On your way out, pick the top off of a tree for a memory. Fill Heaven with your stories.