The Recap
It was a somber day, but not a bad one. We hit almost no traffic on the ride out to Long Island, which is virtually unheard of, and even less on the way back. Unfortunately, my sister's husband was the driver, and I hope someone puts a bullet in my head before I have to be his passenger again for any length of time. He's not a wild driver, he's an oblivious one, and I was required to be the navigator today. Saying to someone "It's the next exit. It's this exit. It's right here," and having the driver make no reply and change no lanes is maddening. When a car in front of us slows down, my sister tells him to "Stop!", which she illustrates by grabbing her armrests in alarm.
As for the drive, I hadn't realized that it would be the same ride we took as kids all the times we visited this family: the George Washington Bridge to the Cross Bronx Expressway to the Cross Island Parkway to the Southern State Parkway. Along the way, we passed the exit that I know is the one to take to get to the cemetery where my own grandparents are buried, so now we can take that trip next summer without fear of getting lost.
Anyway, there was a graveside service with about a dozen people there, because most of the people are in Florida, where the actual funeral and mourning period (shiva) will take place.
In the meantime, I later spoke to my cousin in Colorado, who tells me that her mother -- my aunt by marriage -- is in hospice (in Oregon) and will probably not last the week. She doesn't want us to fly out for that graveside service; we'll get together at another time.
It's hard to mourn in the true sense, because both of these women are reaching a peace they have not known for a long time due to their illnesses. My aunt in Oregon is still clear of mind, but has been quite ill for some time. She's about 90, I think, and is ready to let go.
So, somber, as I say, but all right. Today is also R's 28th birthday, and a good day for her; I'm glad of that. As for me, my lunch is ready and my clothes are out for tomorrow, so that means it's nighty-night time for me.
(Oh, and yes, Mary: Edith was indeed a pistol. A good description of her.)
FAMILY GUY :: ENTRY #2009
READING: Paper Towns by John Green
You are right -- it's hard to mourn in the strictest sense when you know that the person is relieved of the trials and stresses of our everyday life. The greatest sadness of for ourselves, as we miss them.
ReplyDeleteMy aunt in Oregon is the last one I have (my mother's youngest sister), and she also is not doing well. I try to stay in touch with her "kids" (around your age), but I'm not sure she recognizes who the greeting cards are from.