#1b- Catharsis

Awwww- the Blog.

Long time, no blog.  I forget how much I like blogging.  Especially when my mind is full of the kinds of things that need to be cemented in a way that only written word can do.  It is essential to peace of mind to have a space in which to speak.  Even if the vortex is a vacuum. But I digress-

Another year another family dinner.  Having already explained the complexities behind our family dinners I'll skip the theatrics behind the event.  That's not what's on my mind but it bears mentioning because it gives context to the real story.  Long story short there was a misunderstanding about whom would be in attendance at the dinner.

Maybe the misunderstanding was exactly that- a misunderstanding.  Maybe it was a deliberate deception. I'm not sure. What I am sure of is that my Mom was pissed as was my Aunt.  Regardless, we have been trained thoroughly on public etiquette so while the surface was pretty the underlying tensions were high.  Having been at enough family dinners to know the difference- this was, hands down, the worst ever. Too many family members were at odds.  It made me miss my Granny.

We left early.  As I dropped my Mom and kids at the hotel I knew I that needed space to live in my own head for a while.  I drove.  Driving helps me think; moving meditation I guess. I was angry.  I was hurt. I felt disappointed. I mostly had extrapolated the effects of this misunderstanding in my mind and came to understand that the next time we would all be together would most likely be at a funeral.  Family dinners, with the whole family, would probably never happen again.  It hurt. So I turned up the music and drove.

I ended up on 13th and Volusia.  My Granny's house was on 16th and Volusia. As I was driving down the street I was reflecting that the part of Kansas that had shaped me hadn't changed much. It was were I learned the kinds of things that I rarely, if ever, have to use in Denver.  It's a deep rooted part of me that unless you've seen me in my home environment, you'll just never get.

I recognized that Wichita hadn't changed much.  My family had just traded up neighborhoods. I felt comforted. As I continued down the street I thought I recognized a shape.  I did.  It was my cousin. As mentioned before you can't really go anywhere in this city without tripping over one of us. I stopped- in the middle of the street (as that's what you do in Kansas) and asked her the thing that had been circling in my brain since leaving the dinner.

"Where is Granny buried?"

She wasn't surprised to see me.  Didn't express disappointment nor grievance that I didn't exchange customary greetings.  She just looked at me.

"Shoot cousin- I don't know and I don't want to tell you  wrong."

"I've never been.  It's time for me to go."

"It's on the obituary right?"

I nodded.  She got in. We drove to her house where she had the obituary on the mantle.

"Maple Grove."

"Off 13th?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks cousin." And I left. What was unsaid was much more important than what was said.  We got it.  It was enough.

I got to Maple Grove with no real plan.  I generally never have a real plan, just an idea and grit.  I quickly recognized that I needed help.  I prayed.  Pulled over. Remembered.

"Do I have to go?" I was 11 and scared.

The last time I had went to a family funeral it was my Uncle Curtis.  I remembered, clearly, the acidic sweat and poorly disguised decomposition smell of the funeral home.  I remembered the wails of crying.  I remembered the heat.  I remembered that the people that I thought of as towers falling apart and that I could physically feel their pain.  It was the first time I had ever seen my Mom cry. When passing by the body I looked at my Granny and I remember that her eyes were blank.  They usually sparkled.  That day they did not. I remembered that I had smiled at her, my 7 year old mind figuring if she recognized me she would smile back and some of the dullness would leave her eyes.  I remember she looked right through me. She did not smile.  I hated every moment of that experience.

And now my Granny was dead.  I didn't know much at 11 but I knew that this funeral would be 10 times worse than the last.

"Would you like to know what I think?" My Mom had asked.

"No, because you're going to tell me..." I trailed off, finishing the thought in my head with, ' I have to go.'

She smiled sadly. "Since you're having such a hard time deciding I think you should stay here. We can pick you up later."

I nodded, relieved. I knew in my mind that the last memories of my Granny would be the kind where her eyes were sparkling. The one where she snuck a cigarette in the car that she shouldn't be smoking given the cancer that was killing her.  She smiled, winked, and lit up.  I got it.  I nodded and smiled back, it was our last secret.

After that she was too sick for me to go into her room.  That was fine with me as I'm horrible at goodbyes.  I prefer to skulk off unnoticed and hug my memories close in my heart.

Now here I was- 25 years later, needing to be in the last physical place my Granny was, and no idea of how to find her.  After that prayer I noticed a gentleman mowing the grass on a riding lawn mower.  I walked over and asked if he knew where her headstone was.  He smiled kindly despite his gruff appearance.  I realized that he must run into this kind of situation often. He gently asked a few questions with a well placed joke and pointed me in a direction.

I went in the pointed direction and started to panic.  The sign said that the graveyard closed at dusk, there were literally thousands of headstones, the clock was ticking. So I did what I always do when I want fast information.  I googled it.  A tenth of a second later the exact plot and picture showed up on my IPhone.  I love google.  Armed with more information I went back to my mower grass man.

"Can you show me this plot?"

He pulled out his map.  "If you want to follow my mower I'll take you right there."

I nodded.  Thanking him profusely while internally worrying that his mower wouldn't beat the sun. In less than a minute we where there. He got off the mower.

"I'll help you look."

One minute later, "I found it."

He pointed me in the right direction.  We walked over together.  He was right.  I shook his hand. Thanked him profusely and was happy he had the good sense to leave me in peace.  Again, obviously not his first time at this particular rodeo.

I sank in the grass.  Four thoughts chased each other like a resounding echo.

"Granny, they've lost their minds.  They know better.  We need you.  I miss you." I cried and cried and cried. That was the first time I cried over such a deep loss. It took me 25 years to be ready to reconcile this death.

I prayed and cried in pain and let my thoughts chase each other until it was dark.  I acknowledged that I was getting eaten by chiggers but I couldn't move.  My head was bowed in submission to the exclusive devotion that death requires. As my crying subsided I realized I needed to leave a piece of me behind. Leave a symbolic token of me that I would never get back.  Much like the impact on my life that her death had taken.

I took off my earrings, they were a favorite pair.  I bought them because they reminded me of the sun.  Bright yellow with an iridescent reflective glow.  The matched a necklace and fabulous pair of Manolos that I had built an outfit around. They were special. I left them.  I cried a bit more and got up walking back to the car both lighter and heavier.  I understood, in that moment, that the family that my Granny had built was no more.  Like a worm and butterfly we had morphed.  Never to be the same no matter how much I wanted it to be true.  The family unit that I knew and loved was gone. In place was something different, something more colorful but less substantive. Family 2.0

I walked away heavy. And then out of the corner of my eye- a flash.  I assumed it was the passing car lights. Nope.  Another flash. I paused, stared at the spot. It happened again. It was a lightning bug. I love lightening bugs.  They are a flash of light amidst darkness.  In fact without the darkness you can't see their light.  They always remind me that when things seem bleakest is when it is the most easy to see a beacon of hope.

And that's how love should end. Love should always, always end in hope.

-Dewb