| THIS IS A READ-ONLY ARCHIVE FROM THE SORABJI.COM MESSAGE BOARDS (1995-2016). |
|---|
We rode a nice new jumbojet Boeing 777. My girl was a jet set rockstar. She thinks plane rides are cool Sunday there was the ever morbid viewing A ritual I dont understand. It seems so...so...so...Victorian. It lasted for 4 long hours. So long, my cousin and daughter had to crash in an empty parlor My mom assured me she would never do that to us....the 'viewing' that is. Monday, the funeral. I had been asked to speak. I spoke at my dad's funeral with much 'fanfare'. Though that ripped me apart, there were circumstances involved then not present with my grandfather's passing despite practically raising me along with my grandmother. Just prior to being led into the chapel by the Presby preacher we gathered, family only, in a circle and prayed. We raised a figurative glass to my grandfather in honor of his christmas morning tradition and putting back a shot of whisky. Not realizing the pastor was being figurative, i reached for my flask. My confusion briefly interrupted tears with giggles. Seeing my grandmother kiss my grandfather's shell one last time nearly brought me to my knees. Here was this strong, independent woman who raised 3 children and 5 grandchildren, frail, weak, as her other half of 64+ years is being sealed in a box destined for the earth. My speech proved more difficult than I thought. The precher made a poignant point that Im rather proud of. My grandfather, being a IBEW (International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers) stalwart, and working on just about every major building in downtown Atlanta from approx 1930 to 1980, the preacher reminded us that his spark is seen and felt by many. Never will I drive through Atlanta again, that glorious sparkly route via 85 through the core of downtown at night and not think of my grandfather. I was a pall bearer. Something I've never done before. In procession, on our way to the cemetary in south Atlanta, in honor of my grandfather's never-ending frustration with the mad and insane driving public in Atlanta, a truck realizing they were about to miss their exit nearly ran over the hearse. An 18 wheeler crossing 3 lanes in about 100 yards or less. Fucking amazing. We arrived at the cemetary Brief words were spoken And I tipped my flask up one last time and we made our way I regret not taking a shot of the grave digger, as he was a character, with jumpsuit and everything, straight out of a Scooby Doo episode. Like any good, self-respecting family of Scotch/Irish descent, we came home and ate and ate and ate. The food kept coming from neighbors and friends. It was retarded. We played pool And we played some more Greeted old friends and had many drink. In addition to seeing my grandfather off, the other primary directive on our journey was to deliver healing. Healing in form of baby That little girl was THE most crucial aspect of our visit. My grandmother basked in the support all of us brought, but nothing reaffirms the soul of a grieving women who has built her life on caregiving and loving than her great grandaughter. On both flights, Eva was a such a champ. Im so absolutely proud. Despite crying child 4 rows up on our return, she could have cared less. That is all. Oh, and we had sex late one night in the theater room on the leather couch. |
eva on the old woman's lap is my favorite. her expression is something akin to what i would emote if i were on that lady's lap. |
|
|
I read from the book of lamentations at nana's service. the first two lines sounded like some bad depressed teenage poetry...my soul is empty kind of thing. my cousin's was better (letter from timothy to st. paul...or something.) the eulogy was written by an old friend of the family and it was beautiful. the wake was packed...of course, with my nana's 7 kids, 15 grandchilderen, 6 nieces and nephews (plus some of their kids) and then everyone's spouses represented, there wasn't much room for anyone else. We had massive amounts of food after the wake, donated by the grocery store my uncle is a manager for. After the funeral we hosted a buffet lunch at her country club for everyone in the procession. The priest who did the mass was named Father Patrick Hollywood. My cousin's daughter, Michaela, placed a valentine she made for nana in the casket, one of those ones you get for school with a lollipop tied to it. It said, "Dear Nana Kay, I will miss you very much. Here is a picture of me --->" and pointed to a drawing of herself with tears. I found out that, in honor of her 40 years of so of community service, our city's council woman had a moment of silence during the city council meeting for her last tuesday. Eva is too much. I got to hold my cousin's baby again as did my mom and all my aunts...as patrick says, nothing reaffirms grieving souls better. I have to say, however, me mum was in an amazing mood when she picked me up from the airport and we had lunch with my brothers and we laughed a lot. So, babies and a usually far-away daughter home for her birthday...good for the soul. yup. |
check it. this photo was uncovered during the recent family get togethers. family foto circa 1978-79 from right to left. my very sassy uncle. my constantly worried and newly-divorced mom, my law-school student uncle to be, me, and my every spunky aunt who was engaged to law-school uncle, granddaddy caught off guard. I think its one of my favorite family photos ever. the instamatic color tonality slightly faded due to the crappy paper quality combined with the various expressions and fashions....its fucking tops. From sassy uncle's Scientific Atlanta shirt, mom's now envogue style Bahamas tee, my Key West tee and my uncle-to-be's Charlie Daniels tee. I also love it for the fact that im just so god damn cute. i mean...for real...how could you say 'no' to me? you couldn't. no one did. voila! here's another one for good measure, abouyt a year or so later, circa 79, 80 me and my sister with mamasara and granddaddy. |
Eva is so cute when she's serious. That's such a funny expression to find on a baby's face. I didn't know your sister was so much older than you. Or maybe you told us before but I had forgotten. Those pictures are cool. I haven't been to a funeral since my grandmother died when I was 15. I think. That was a strange event. My grandmother abused my mother and her older brother, but mellowed out a bit when she had her younger children. My youngest uncle read the passage from Proverbs about what a virtuous woman is like ("Strength and honor are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time to come. She opens her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness"), and that upset me because my grandmother wasn't like that at all. I remember sitting behind my grandfather and seeing his shoulders shake during that reading and having to stare at him for a moment to tell if he was laughing or crying. |
|
|