Tomorrow at 2 my dad's gonna come pick me up. If I'm not here, at Jujutsu, class, Jujutsu again, or work this weekend, it's because I'm home. The wake is tomorrow. The funeral is Friday. Dad said he would bring me back pretty much whatever day I want, so I may not have to miss stuff this weekend....this is why I should be one step ahead of everything. When something throws me a step back, I'll still be heading in the right direction.
God, enough about ME. It almost sickens me that all my thoughts turn to myself and MY life when something like this happens. I can't imagine how my mom is feeling right now. Or my aunts.
Shawn is being wonderful. I couldn't possibly ask for anything more.
It's funny observing the different ways in which different people react to someone who is (or should be) mourning. Some are instantly and almost overly sympathetic. Some take the 'you're still you, I'm going to treat you the same way I always do' approach. Some are very uncomfortable and avoid eye contact at all costs. And some understand so hard that you don't need to fumble for words to describe how you feel because they just know. Everyone says "If there's anything I can do/anything you need..." and they mean it. But you can only have so much emotional support before you go numb, and you don't want to dwell. Dwelling is bad. So you don't tell everyone, at least maybe not right away. Because you still need time to deal and think. I don't think that's something that naturally happens at a funeral service. I think that can only happen naturally, days, weeks, months, even years after the fact. One day it finally hits you that Dana's gone, Mr. Kelly's gone, Grammie is gone. Mentally, Grammie's been gone for a long time...I think we all made our peace with that just as gradually as her mind deteriorated over the years.
But that's not what I want to remember. I want to remember the Italian grandmother who made the best meatballs (better than my Grandma, but don't tell her I said that), listened to NPR, bought us licorice bites, and couldn't stand Puerto Ricans. She had a hell of a nasty temper, but I never saw it. The only times I had a glimpse of it was when she broke up a fight between my aunts. I'm searching through the memories, trying to find the ones that "matter". Like if I find one significant enough, it will trigger something and I'll cry. I haven't made my peace yet.
Rest in peace Grammie, I know you are now.
Josephine (DeSomma) Bartolini, born 1929, died November 11, 2003.
3 daughters
3 grandchildren
God, enough about ME. It almost sickens me that all my thoughts turn to myself and MY life when something like this happens. I can't imagine how my mom is feeling right now. Or my aunts.
Shawn is being wonderful. I couldn't possibly ask for anything more.
It's funny observing the different ways in which different people react to someone who is (or should be) mourning. Some are instantly and almost overly sympathetic. Some take the 'you're still you, I'm going to treat you the same way I always do' approach. Some are very uncomfortable and avoid eye contact at all costs. And some understand so hard that you don't need to fumble for words to describe how you feel because they just know. Everyone says "If there's anything I can do/anything you need..." and they mean it. But you can only have so much emotional support before you go numb, and you don't want to dwell. Dwelling is bad. So you don't tell everyone, at least maybe not right away. Because you still need time to deal and think. I don't think that's something that naturally happens at a funeral service. I think that can only happen naturally, days, weeks, months, even years after the fact. One day it finally hits you that Dana's gone, Mr. Kelly's gone, Grammie is gone. Mentally, Grammie's been gone for a long time...I think we all made our peace with that just as gradually as her mind deteriorated over the years.
But that's not what I want to remember. I want to remember the Italian grandmother who made the best meatballs (better than my Grandma, but don't tell her I said that), listened to NPR, bought us licorice bites, and couldn't stand Puerto Ricans. She had a hell of a nasty temper, but I never saw it. The only times I had a glimpse of it was when she broke up a fight between my aunts. I'm searching through the memories, trying to find the ones that "matter". Like if I find one significant enough, it will trigger something and I'll cry. I haven't made my peace yet.
Rest in peace Grammie, I know you are now.
Josephine (DeSomma) Bartolini, born 1929, died November 11, 2003.
3 daughters
3 grandchildren
posted by Laura at 1:29:00 AM
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