The driving part was uneventful, for which I'm thankful. It's never good to have things get crazy while on the road! Once we got there it was kind of hectic--I had to change my shirt and get Sweet'ums changed before we left to go to the memorial. I hardly had time to say hello to anyone before we had to go.
The memorial itself was nice. I got the impression the minister had never met my uncle, which bothered me a little, but he wasn't the church type. He had tons of friends there, which was comforting. It's nice to know so many people loved him since most of the family was so far away. On the other hand, having so many strangers there made it hard to just grieve. I was already worried about trying to keep it together for my mom and brother and Sweet'ums but having people there none of us had ever met made it so much harder. Honestly, I still haven't even really looked at the little funeral card thingie they handed out. I think the hardest part was seeing the little box of his ashes sitting up front on the table. Seeing a body in a casket is one thing, but knowing all of him is in that little tiny box is unsettling in the worst way. And actually going up there made it so real that he's gone. He lived so far away that he was sort of just that weird, great uncle on the fringe of the family that we saw once a year or so (unless we made a trip up there, which we did a few times) and when we did it was like we'd never been apart. So being there, where he was supposed to be, made it all finally come crashing down around me.
The lady who did the memorial read some lines from a song by The Cranberries. I love The Cranberries but now I don't know if I will ever listen to this song the same way again.
They also had a playlist of his favorite songs playing in the background before and after. So many times he would call me in the middle of the night, drunk, and play those songs for me, and cry about how he wished my parents could accept the way he was, and how could God forgive him, and hearing them from now on is going to reopen that wound in my heart.
Afterwards we went back to his house. I got to spend some time with my cousin and caught up on some things that have happened lately. And my uncle's sweetie was just heartbreaking--he came in the house at one point wearing the hat my uncle wore the last time I saw him and the look on his face was heartbreaking. God, how seeing him hurt, because he was hurting and he was without the person he loved, regardless of how uncomfortable it might make the traditional folks in the family. And he's such an awesome guy. It kills me now to think how many years went by that I didn't see my uncle because they wouldn't let him bring R to our house with him. R is the greatest guy and he loved my uncle more than anyone else did. And honestly, he would have made a great addition to the family if they'd accepted it a lot sooner.
Once again, there were so many strangers at the house that it made it awkward. I wish, kind of, that Ricky and I had driven too, so we could have stayed longer and had a drink in my uncle's memory with all of his pals. I think we might go up another time and take R out and have drinks. Drinking was one of my uncle's favorite hobbies and while it's not healthy to do all the time, I'll have one in his honor.
My mom's mom basically put on a show through the whole thing. If anyone was looking she'd turn on the waterworks, but as soon as people would walk away she'd be just fine--adjusting the little box of ashes, wiping smudges off his pictures. R (who she lives with) says she was fine before everyone got there, too. She's apparently driving him crazy, and if she doesn't stop with the snide comments at people she's going to end up homeless. After the whole thing was over she kept trying to make people look at the old family photos she had (of my great-, great-great, etc. grandparents). Most of these people weren't even relatives! She also kept insisting that my great-great-great grandmother looked soooooo much like an Indian. Family lore has it that she was a Seminole but I honestly don't see it. She got huffy when she asked what I thought and I had the nerve to disagree. I didn't even do it in a mean/rude/disrespectful way. She just didn't want to be disagreed with.
So it was a long afternoon. I'll fill you in on the family drama in a later post, but let's just say it's going to be a long fight between my cousins.
We got home around 8 and tried getting settled back in and all. I started to post last night but just didn't feel up to it.
So, thanks for reading. I'll leave you with copies of those family pics as a thank you for reading up to this point. I love old photos--there's just something about them. I'm fortunate to be in a family that has a lot of them floating around.
These are my great-great-great grandparents. The woman is the "Indian" in question. Me, I just don't see it, but then again, I don't see why it matters so much either. Regardless of her ethnicity she was still my grandmother and it's cool to have a picture of someone that had to be taken at least one hundred, maybe one hundred and ten years ago.
For some reason this one won't upload the right way. This one has my great-great grandmother (the woman in the upper right), her husband and her sister, and her two daughters (my great grandmother is sitting on her daddy's lap). My g-g-grandmother reminds me of my mom.
This is my great-grandmother and her sister and brother. She's the one sitting down.
This is my great grandmother on the occasion of her high school graduation in 1927, age 17. How cool is that? I think my cousin looks like her; my cousin thinks I look like her. I'm going to have a picture done like this one, I think, so then we'll compare and find out. :)
So that's my weekend. Good night, all... Hope this week is better than the last!
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