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Melancholy journeys
Oct. 18th, 2004 09:32 pmFirst of all, I want to thank all of you for your kind words and sympathy; your love and support mean much, much more than you know. I didn't give much of an explanation of exactly what happened when I got the news last week: my Grandma had been repeatedly hospitalized for an infection that she just couldn't shake, and it finally, finally caught up with her. It wasn't a surprise in the wide view, exactly, since I think everyone knew that it was coming somewhere along the line, but I don't think anyone had any idea it'd be now.
So. The wake and memorial service were set for Saturday, with a burial today. I only got three bereavement days from work, so it was impossible to do both, but I did fly out on Friday morning to do what I could. Anna, bless her heart, joined me without hesitation, even though she'd be meeting every last one of my relatives (on both sides), including both my Mom and Dad, and under less than wonderful circumstances. And meet them she did—there were folks at the service that I myself hadn't seen in well over a decade. I don't envy her for her introductions to 36 different solemn, heartbroken people she'd neve met in the space of a half-hour. I can't imagine how she made it through as well as she did.
The service itself was lovely, with eulogies provided by my Mom, Uncle Jack, Mom's cousin John, and her uncle Andy, and two hymns sung a capella by the minister, with little talent but much emotion. I'm not sure what to say about the event, really. I'm no good at grieving; I'm not entirely sure I know how. I've only lost a few people in my life, and invariably they've been people I only spoke to very occasionally, my Grandma included. So I don't process the idea of "gone" the way others do. I don't cry. I don't suffer under the burden of loss. It simply does not compute, not in that way. And here I was, surrounded by people I love who were weeping, like my Mom, and other who bore their grief in silence, like my Grandpa, married to his wife for 56 years, and people were asking my how I was holding up, and I didn't know how to say, "Fine. I'm fine, honestly." And this was compounded by the fact that I had not seen my family, even my parents, in at least a year, if not more, and I had only a few days in town, and there was this weight over our time together. The phrase "I wish it were under better circumstances" became a mantra.
The weekend wasn't without good things. I got to introduce Anna to Chicago, one of my favorite places in the world, and one I think she's beginning to be won over to. We stayed with my Dad and Marina, my stepmother, for two nights, and with my sister Karen and her husband James for the third. I finally, finally met my only nephew Liam, who's a dead ringer for my Nikolas, and at least as charming. I ate well, very well, as both my Dad and James insisted on cooking. Dad taught me how to play Doublekopf, the Gordian knot of a card game my parents and grandparents used to play for hours when I was a child. I saw my first Bears game on TV in ten years (for what that was worth). And I got to taste home.
I'd forgotten how good that tasted.
So we're back in New York again. Anna is laid up with a cold-flu-thing that she caught from Liam, and I'm rapidly fading from sleep deprivation as I type this. But I feel satisfied, like I filled some little hole in the cosmos, or at least in my cosmos. We'll be going back again, soon. For the moment, though, the only place I'm going is to bed, next to Anna.
Good night, friends.
So. The wake and memorial service were set for Saturday, with a burial today. I only got three bereavement days from work, so it was impossible to do both, but I did fly out on Friday morning to do what I could. Anna, bless her heart, joined me without hesitation, even though she'd be meeting every last one of my relatives (on both sides), including both my Mom and Dad, and under less than wonderful circumstances. And meet them she did—there were folks at the service that I myself hadn't seen in well over a decade. I don't envy her for her introductions to 36 different solemn, heartbroken people she'd neve met in the space of a half-hour. I can't imagine how she made it through as well as she did.
The service itself was lovely, with eulogies provided by my Mom, Uncle Jack, Mom's cousin John, and her uncle Andy, and two hymns sung a capella by the minister, with little talent but much emotion. I'm not sure what to say about the event, really. I'm no good at grieving; I'm not entirely sure I know how. I've only lost a few people in my life, and invariably they've been people I only spoke to very occasionally, my Grandma included. So I don't process the idea of "gone" the way others do. I don't cry. I don't suffer under the burden of loss. It simply does not compute, not in that way. And here I was, surrounded by people I love who were weeping, like my Mom, and other who bore their grief in silence, like my Grandpa, married to his wife for 56 years, and people were asking my how I was holding up, and I didn't know how to say, "Fine. I'm fine, honestly." And this was compounded by the fact that I had not seen my family, even my parents, in at least a year, if not more, and I had only a few days in town, and there was this weight over our time together. The phrase "I wish it were under better circumstances" became a mantra.
The weekend wasn't without good things. I got to introduce Anna to Chicago, one of my favorite places in the world, and one I think she's beginning to be won over to. We stayed with my Dad and Marina, my stepmother, for two nights, and with my sister Karen and her husband James for the third. I finally, finally met my only nephew Liam, who's a dead ringer for my Nikolas, and at least as charming. I ate well, very well, as both my Dad and James insisted on cooking. Dad taught me how to play Doublekopf, the Gordian knot of a card game my parents and grandparents used to play for hours when I was a child. I saw my first Bears game on TV in ten years (for what that was worth). And I got to taste home.
I'd forgotten how good that tasted.
So we're back in New York again. Anna is laid up with a cold-flu-thing that she caught from Liam, and I'm rapidly fading from sleep deprivation as I type this. But I feel satisfied, like I filled some little hole in the cosmos, or at least in my cosmos. We'll be going back again, soon. For the moment, though, the only place I'm going is to bed, next to Anna.
Good night, friends.
