So here I am again, finally. Not yet ready really to talk, but having reached the point where I probably need to. It has been so long since I took some of these pictures that I will probably have a hard time remembering the significance of a lot of them. Whatever the case, it is time for stories to be told.
April 11 The End There is no picture for April 11. I slept in a bit on this Sunday morning, and then I called Mama and told her I was ready to head to the hospital, did she need me to look after her dog on the way. And this time, she told me not to come. Quite a difference from the previous Sunday, when she had called me to hurry. The family had gathered around and they were about to take the breathing mask off of Granny. I think it ended up that I was one of maybe 5 family members not there. I’m still not sure how I feel about that. I guess I am upset that maybe some think I didn’t care enough to be there. But then it also seems pretty ghoulish to think that some 20-30 people were there to watch someone die. I mean, where is the peace to that? HOW DO YOU EVEN DIE LIKE THAT? Thinking about it turns my stomach.
Granny was my last living grandparent, and it was on this day that I started crying. Daily. For quite awhile. Which we will get to eventually.
April 12 Lunch This is a hamburger, and I think it came from Chili’s, but I am not sure. I know it had fried onions on it and it was very good. And on this day, I worked and I cried and I picked clothes for the wake with my mother’s help.
April 13 Visitation Excuse me. I have to go smoke before we talk about this. And also get more coffee.
This is a picture of a plant that was at the funeral home. Behind the plant, you can see the “beautiful people” who compose my family. I worked this day from 9-5:30 and then I headed to the funeral home for the visitation that started at 6. The night before, as I mentioned, I had picked out my clothes, which had to adapt from work to wake because of the time issue. And….as I was trying to figure out something suitable, Mama asked me if I was planning to stand with the family. Because, you know, it might not look right, them all standing there, having had time to make themselves socially presentable, and I had to pretty much wear what I wore to work, with the exception of changing my shirt and shoes.
I think I have probably mentioned before that I have always felt isolated by this step-family of mine, tolerated, but never enjoyed and loved. Not part of them, not accepted, the short, dark ugly duckling in a group of tall, blonde swans. But until this night, I had never felt like my appearance embarrassed my mother as well. I had never felt excluded by her. And so, I spent this evening sitting on a couch there in the visitation room, lying to everyone about how I wasn’t up there with my family because my feet hurt because I had been standing up all day and feeling so unloved and unwanted and unworthy. And then I went to back to Granny’s for a bit and then I went home and cried some more.
And I knew again that my decision to love and accept my kids no matter what weird clothes they choose or what crazy thing they do to their hair was the right one for me.
April 14 The funeral
This is the dress and sweater I wore to Granny’s funeral. I had That One help me pick my clothes via pic text. Golly gee, I do love technology. And I wept through the entire service. And yeah, the person who “lost it” during the springtime song, that was me.
April 15 Azaleas
These are from my own yard, blooming on bushes Grandmother gave to me when I moved in here.