We were neither distant nor close. I only have fond memories; he was a very selfless, giving man. More so than any of my grandparents, and I'm not saying this because he's passed.
My words sound cold to me. I feel like a monster. Like I shouldn't make any funny remarks (unrelated to my grandfather, but still, funny remarks in the context of this post which relates to my grandfather is callous to me. The funny remark I wanted and am now making was: --monster, like how Joie called Mindy a monster for not coming close to tears or sobbing when we watched the weepie, My Sister's Keeper).
I'm not a monster, though. I know that we all process events of life differently.
As I was eating ice cream tonight, my mother told me it was the ice cream my grandfather had bought before he died. He'd always buy a lot if it was on sale at the store because he loved ice cream. But he never got a chane to even open these pints. When he was near death, my grandmother made my father take them home with him.
I ate my grandfather's ice cream.
I found some pictures of my father with my grandfather. And one of me (and others)--in that one, he's holding my brother. I'm on the right.
I realize, after looking at older photographs, that I smile just like my father. This makes me glad.
Honestly, I can't imagine the holidays without my grandfather. What Christmas will be like--
I'm really nervous about the funeral, mostly scared that everyone will be crying and that their faces will wear their keening, and that I will look the same. I don't want anyone to think that I don't care.
I do care. I have been immensely surprised by how much time and responsibility my mother has undertaken for the funeral arrangements--especially for my father's family, since she's not so fond of them. Rather than taking action in his passing (and I can't, from the other side of the country), I feel numb, watching how others react.
Like, some of my mother's brothers and sisters will be in attendance at the funeral tomorrow. They have only met my grandfather once, maybe, at my mother's wedding. And the other day, my aunt called my mother to talk and casually asked how my grandfather was doing, to which my mother responded, "Oh, he died."
My aunt immediately burst into tears over the phone, which made my mother realize that perhaps she should have padded the information. My aunt has not met my grandfather.
I think I'm anxious about proper mourning emotion. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel, and don't want to seem disrepectful. I have been thinking nothing but of my memories with my grandfather. But thinking, and remembering them don't make me sad.
Yes, I am sad that he is gone, and perhaps, I don't even realize what this means yet.
I hate my delayed reactions, responses. I am frightened to think about what loss and passing means to the deceased, to the living, to me.
