Departures

I went to my first funeral when I was around 9 years old, an open-casket affair for my step-Grandfather named Charlie and it also happened to be the first dead body I'd ever seen in my life.  I will never forget being surrounded by all the adults in dark clothes, the red carpet of the church and the gray pallor of his skin.  

A few years ago I had the honor...and it was truly an honor, to speak at my paternal Grandfather's funeral.  Honoring him mostly for my dad, a man I find complicated and complex and who my relationship at times has gone from the unfamiliar to surprisingly close.  I like to think that I did an okay job at the eulogy...written it was beautiful, albeit in horrific handwriting.  Spoken, I'm not so sure...I literally skipped lines where I knew I wouldn't be able to complete without crying.  I'm not sure if that was a disservice or not...I'm not sure if they will remember the words but I know my Grandmother cherishes the notebook paper that I used to write it on.  That is enough for me.

And in the next few days I will go the funeral of my Godfather, a man who I literally worshiped as a young kid but sort of drifted away from due to time and distance in the meanwhile.  He was an army officer, bootstrapped by joining at the height of Vietnam and achieving medals and awards and all-around stud status.  He smoked, he joked, he was the kind of guy that I should have said goodbye to and I didn't really get the chance.  

He and I spoke briefly once things looked bleak; he got a mass text and hit one of the numbers and it rang my phone.  He sounded the same, he sounded optimistic.  

I don't really know why I shied away...I don't really like that I did.  I don't think it was deliberate...things got crazy, got busy, and I had my own issues.  But I didn't really return his investment...and I feel a ton more shallow at this miss.  

I think this will always be my MO...I think I ignore the damage...I pretend it will all be okay.  And in the end it always ends the same.  

I really do love a lot more than I'm capable of demonstrating...and I wonder if that is genetic.  I remember the time I was talking to my 97 year old Great Grandfather as we gathered around his hospital bed, kind of like a last-goodbye, and I remember him crying and saying that he "really liked us".  

Liked?  I was 13 and expecting something more.

But I also realized that with this Danish immigrant who worked his way up in life after coming over and raising kids and living on a farm that the word "like" was about as tender as he was going to get.

The male side of my family is very stoic; we try to remain unflappable...

My mom tells of a time when my dad was embarrassed by me kissing him on the cheek in church for the kiss of peace...until she yelled at him and he got over it.  And now when we greet each other it is with a kiss on the cheek.  It's just not the most natural thing for him.  And I get it.  I'm the same with my boy to an extent.

So I don't know how this funeral will go...I'm just hoping that my Grandmother, a widow who is burying her middle son, is going to be okay.  And I am glad that I will get to see her, despite the circumstances.  And I will wear the tie that I wore to my Grandfather's funeral...and then when I come home I think I will burn it. 

I don't want to ever have an excuse to wear it again.