For anyone that knows me well, the idea that I wouldn’t be good dealing with death can’t come as much of a surprise. Given my inability to properly handle an extended goodbye, I would almost imagine that it’s a given that my coping devices for the final goodbye would be woefully inadequate. I used to wonder why it was that I have such a hard time with it, but gave up on that self-effacing line of questioning and decided to focus on something more productive. What that is I’m not sure of yet, but I’ll be sure to tell you all when I figure it out.
There’s a light that’s on in someone’s eyes that you can’t turn out. No amount of sickness, be it mental or physical, can flip the switch. Their body may be in revolt against their mind, but it’s what really propels us forward that stays lit. It’s the sparkle of blue behind the wide open eyes, the tight grip on your hand coupled with the inability to hold a glass of water, or the smile in spite of the pain that tells you that they’re still there.
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I wrote that on the 12th of May. Since then, I’ve come back to San Francisco, Grandma has passed, gone back to Connecticut, and we laid her to rest today.
I got to see my relatives, my cousins and uncles and aunts. It was great. Our family has never been extremely close, scattered around the country, with various borders in the way. However, we had all of us there but one, and it was great. I have to say that it’s nice to see people and there’s just a connection, there’s something. Granted, I haven’t seen most of them since Grandpa’s funeral, but it doesn’t matter. In her own way, Grandma seems to have given us her final gift in her passing. She’s caused us all to see what we’ve been missing and we’re all wanting to take the steps to patch up the missing relationships between us all. Who knows if it will work, but I’m hopeful.
Only Grandma would have planned all this, which Courtney and I are convinced that she did. She was always smarter and stronger than us all.
For years we were all confused as to why she refused to leave the most handicapped unfriendly house in the world. A few years ago, we got the answer. When she was younger, her father died when she was 2 years old, and her mother raised her, cleaning houses. When Genevieve (Grandma) was old enough, she helped her. She cleaned the house at 157 High St. that she would eventually own. The house at the time was owned by the owner of the Bristol Press, and one day the daughter was getting married. Gen was helping unwrap the presents, and all the press people showed up outside, and she noticed a slightly older boy outside named Virgil. Not only did she clean this house as a child, she also met her lifelong love and partner in the backyard. She raised her children here and married them here. This was as much her life as anything else. It hasn’t been till we started cleaning it out and found all the cards from her teens and all through the years that we really realized it.
justinª