The night before my grandpa’s funeral, everyone gathered at Grandma’s. And I mean everyone- my sister came from North Carolina. My aunt came from D.C. My cousin got permission to leave rehab for a few days to be there. Her parents, who never show up for anything, were there.
So, a thing my husband noticed during this gathering of wayward souls is that my family...ALWAYS...eats chili when we’re together. I mean, with the exception of holiday dinners. And so we ate chili and rice and caught up with each other. My kids played in the yard in the dark and the heavy fog until midnight while I got to have adult conversations
My sister (older by three years) thought this would be a great time to corner me and air some grievances. Things that happened literally half a lifetime ago. And longer than that- like when I was six and punched her and then started crying so that She got in trouble. She’s been angry about that since it happened, and...ok, she was a bully. I was six. Why on earth am I STILL apologizing for it over 20 years later? Nobody knows.
The thing about my sister is that she remembers everything very differently than the entire rest of our family, and I’ve never yet figured out if she’s just a pathological liar, a sociopath, or was just very hurt by something as a kid and it made her this way. I don’t know. What I do know is that when I stopped talking to her four years ago, it was a huge relief to not be constantly bombarded by her negativity and insults. It took some time for me to realize I’m not the weak, mean spirited jerk she insisted I am, and it was hard to be around her again.
Meanwhile, back at the farm...or maybe the loony bin...I realized my whole family is nuts. Including me. My mom has a restraining order against my cousin (something about a stolen checkbook) and so, when I saw them greet each other with a hug, it seemed like a good idea to ask them “Doesn’t that violate the restraining order?” Luckily they took it as a joke...
My cousin told a story about getting so used to automatic flushing toilets in jail (or rehab?) that she was having trouble remembering to flush, and Grandma walked in at the last part and asked her to repeat it...which was hilarious because my grandmother is not the kind of lady you discuss jail, toilets, or rehab with.
My mom and her sisters sat around the dining table comparing their gray hair and pompously announcing that they’ll never dye it again, while poking fun at each other for looking so old.
My uncles entertained my husband and my brother with stories of all the times they blew stuff up and almost killed each other (those events only coincided sometimes).
And, when I was not busy restraining myself from kicking my sister in the knee...I was listening. I moved around to every little group and soaked up their stories, their laughter, their memories. I asked questions, and paid attention to the things that made them smile, or frown. I hugged everyone (some of them for the first time ever), and I sat quietly with Grandma in the midst of the sorrow and joy. Joy, because we were more complete than we’d ever been...sorrow, because the man who was the foundation for us all wasn’t there to quietly observe, or dump a gallon of pepper on his dinner, or interject a relevant but highly inappropriate story that would make Grandma cover her mouth and pretend not to laugh while the rest of us were cracking up.
My family is crazy. And loud. And often bossy, temperamental, and just weird. But we all knew the value of Grandpa’s character, hard work, generosity, and quiet service to others, and as I watched and listened, I knew each of us had a part of him- his humor, his temper, his loyalty, his big heart, his toughness, his love of the land and his family.
I know this is long...but it’s the first time I’ve really had a chance to process the past week and let out some of what’s in my head.
So, a thing my husband noticed during this gathering of wayward souls is that my family...ALWAYS...eats chili when we’re together. I mean, with the exception of holiday dinners. And so we ate chili and rice and caught up with each other. My kids played in the yard in the dark and the heavy fog until midnight while I got to have adult conversations
My sister (older by three years) thought this would be a great time to corner me and air some grievances. Things that happened literally half a lifetime ago. And longer than that- like when I was six and punched her and then started crying so that She got in trouble. She’s been angry about that since it happened, and...ok, she was a bully. I was six. Why on earth am I STILL apologizing for it over 20 years later? Nobody knows.
The thing about my sister is that she remembers everything very differently than the entire rest of our family, and I’ve never yet figured out if she’s just a pathological liar, a sociopath, or was just very hurt by something as a kid and it made her this way. I don’t know. What I do know is that when I stopped talking to her four years ago, it was a huge relief to not be constantly bombarded by her negativity and insults. It took some time for me to realize I’m not the weak, mean spirited jerk she insisted I am, and it was hard to be around her again.
Meanwhile, back at the farm...or maybe the loony bin...I realized my whole family is nuts. Including me. My mom has a restraining order against my cousin (something about a stolen checkbook) and so, when I saw them greet each other with a hug, it seemed like a good idea to ask them “Doesn’t that violate the restraining order?” Luckily they took it as a joke...
My cousin told a story about getting so used to automatic flushing toilets in jail (or rehab?) that she was having trouble remembering to flush, and Grandma walked in at the last part and asked her to repeat it...which was hilarious because my grandmother is not the kind of lady you discuss jail, toilets, or rehab with.
My mom and her sisters sat around the dining table comparing their gray hair and pompously announcing that they’ll never dye it again, while poking fun at each other for looking so old.
My uncles entertained my husband and my brother with stories of all the times they blew stuff up and almost killed each other (those events only coincided sometimes).
And, when I was not busy restraining myself from kicking my sister in the knee...I was listening. I moved around to every little group and soaked up their stories, their laughter, their memories. I asked questions, and paid attention to the things that made them smile, or frown. I hugged everyone (some of them for the first time ever), and I sat quietly with Grandma in the midst of the sorrow and joy. Joy, because we were more complete than we’d ever been...sorrow, because the man who was the foundation for us all wasn’t there to quietly observe, or dump a gallon of pepper on his dinner, or interject a relevant but highly inappropriate story that would make Grandma cover her mouth and pretend not to laugh while the rest of us were cracking up.
My family is crazy. And loud. And often bossy, temperamental, and just weird. But we all knew the value of Grandpa’s character, hard work, generosity, and quiet service to others, and as I watched and listened, I knew each of us had a part of him- his humor, his temper, his loyalty, his big heart, his toughness, his love of the land and his family.
I know this is long...but it’s the first time I’ve really had a chance to process the past week and let out some of what’s in my head.