On Thursday my mom called. My grandfather, PePa had died. This is the closest blood relative I have ever lost. This is the closest person to me in my life that has died. I still have not decided if this is a blessing or not. One could say I’m lucky. One could argue it leaves me ill prepared as an adult to deal with this type of crisis. The jury is still out.
I cried for a minute and then I pushed it aside. My mind began turning with ways to get down there. I live in Idaho. He lived in South Texas. A spur of the minute trip to Texas the weekend before Thanksgiving is no easy endeavor. I had a big stats test on Friday. I had kids to get on Monday. I felt like I was in a fog for a good part of the day. Because I am blessed with amazing people in my life I was able to go. I had to find something to wear. One of the dumbest things I think anyone needs to think about is what to wear.
Walking into MeMa’s house after my day in flight was like any other family gathering. Hugs and how are ya’s. PePa would be over at his place. He didn’t go out much. After the visit with MeMa for a bit we’d walk over to PePa’s. I knew somewhere in my head that this wasn’t such a time. This was such a disconnect in my brain though.
One of the things I do, one of the ways I am around family… I’m not emotional. I joke, sometimes inappropriately. My dad said he was so glad I made it. I replied with, “Of course. You need my sarcasm and wit.”
The night before his funeral (the same day I arrived) as we are sitting around waiting for the preacher dude to show, we are discussing old stories. The preacher actually asked for us to write some stories to share during the funeral. One of PePa’s great friends had written a letter that the preacher was going to read. Somehow in all of this I ended up with my mom’s laptop and the task of pulling all of it together. No pressure. Um, yeah. What in the hell am I going to write that is not too sarcastic, not too sappy, not too frivolous? But I did. And it all worked out. I think.
Upon arriving to the funeral home (after I failed at GPS guidance and allowed it to direct me back to my hotel) I find people milling about. There are people sniffling and wiping tears. My sister is full on crying. Holy shit. This sucks and I dig my nails into my hands. I smile and go hug my dad. Slug Jill on the shoulder or something to that effect and go in search of my mom. More hugging and smiling. Questions about where are the kids. Where is the husband. Oh god they don’t know.
There is contingent of folks gathered at the front of the… it is at this point I realize I don’t even know what to call it… the chapel? the big room? the place where you go to say goodbye officially? Up there, by the casket that contained my grandfather, people looked in at him. I’m sure they were sharing memories and saying goodbye. Goodbyes in my family are epic. Sometimes I wonder if all families are like this. I stay in the back. I cannot stand to go up there. I have a memory of a good family friend whose funeral I went to back as a freshman in high school and the presence and vitality of the individual was so far gone. It burned into my brain and I just don’t ever want to look at another body like that again. I do understand why people would feel that way though. It just isn’t for me. At all. I want to keep them in my head as I knew them.
Everyone takes their seat and the service begins. The preacher is talking and reading a letter. I hear people sniffing and quietly crying. There is one thing that is permeating my thoughts. OMG my grandfather is in a box! A fucking box! I don’t want to be in a box. I shut my brain down and turn my gaze towards my brother and his sweet wife. They are reading bible passages. More thoughts…. Damn, they are cute together. He’s so sweet to her. Yay… happy thoughts. And then there is the music. Bless his heart. The music tastes of my grandfather are so very very far from mine. Another note to self, play some damn happy music after I die. Thoughts of piñatas and parties work for me.
There is the burial. I run my fingers through the soft soft hair of my niece. I’ve latched onto her. Both for my sake my sister’s. My brother and his sweetie read more passages. I focus on the vibrant life in front of me. I try and shut out the sounds of the child behind me. I really really wish his mother would take him somewhere else. My mom is the last to leave. She waited until his casket was all the way down. I don’t even want to know what that feels like.
In the end, I hope I don’t come off being a total ass. Everyone has to do it their own way. This is mine. And please, oh please. I don’t want anymore practice at this for a while.
PePa & very young Rian