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You look good in black . . ..
Which one would think is a singularly tasteless thing to tell a family member at a funeral, but I got it several times. It was probably just shock, seeing me dressed in something approaching ordinary formal clothes. He was in a ratty cardigan (which everyone liked) but katy made me dress up.
the sad thing is, it's true. I enjoyed the viewing. It's the sort of social arrangement I can thrive in, with roles and purposes clearly defined for everyone involved. And I haven't felt particularly sad, or angry, or bereft. Of course, my automatic response to pain (as opposed to guilt and shame, wherein I curl into myself and stop eating or sleeping until I make myself sick, a la The Sherwood Ring) is to over-intellectualize everything, and distract myself with stories and everyday things until it goes away. But I haven't even felt any particular pain. Denial? I don't think I'm in denial; I'm very much aware that he's gone, and I'll never see him again, although it was very strange to see him laying quietly there with no book open on his lap and no snoring. I've even dreamt him gone the last few night. But I don't feel sad.
Maybe it's that for years I've been living my life in such a way that nobody's death would hurt me. If you don't depend on anybody but yourself, and plan and act as if everything could change at any moment, then death is less of a loss, I guess; there is something you will never have again, but it doesn't destroy any dreams, and you can still live the same way you did before. In most things. And I have live dthat way, since I was in sixth grade and spent those months suddenly aware of the possibility of death.
The last time I spent with him was sprawling on the living room floor among old papers, talking about science and his past and my future and family, and the last thing I said to him was i love you, and have fun. What is there to regret? And if I could have chosen the best way for him to die, it would have been like that. Only about twenty-five or thirty years from now, of course. But he didn't leave anything unfinished. I think Mom's handling it better than he would have, too. She was the root; it's easier for a plant to come up from the root than take new root from a cutting. And if he was done with what he needed to do, this lifetime, how can I regret that he didn't linger around, fading?
On the other hand, the denial thing is entirely plausible.
My period ended suddenly, a week ago Saturday. It started up again yesterday.
the sad thing is, it's true. I enjoyed the viewing. It's the sort of social arrangement I can thrive in, with roles and purposes clearly defined for everyone involved. And I haven't felt particularly sad, or angry, or bereft. Of course, my automatic response to pain (as opposed to guilt and shame, wherein I curl into myself and stop eating or sleeping until I make myself sick, a la The Sherwood Ring) is to over-intellectualize everything, and distract myself with stories and everyday things until it goes away. But I haven't even felt any particular pain. Denial? I don't think I'm in denial; I'm very much aware that he's gone, and I'll never see him again, although it was very strange to see him laying quietly there with no book open on his lap and no snoring. I've even dreamt him gone the last few night. But I don't feel sad.
Maybe it's that for years I've been living my life in such a way that nobody's death would hurt me. If you don't depend on anybody but yourself, and plan and act as if everything could change at any moment, then death is less of a loss, I guess; there is something you will never have again, but it doesn't destroy any dreams, and you can still live the same way you did before. In most things. And I have live dthat way, since I was in sixth grade and spent those months suddenly aware of the possibility of death.
The last time I spent with him was sprawling on the living room floor among old papers, talking about science and his past and my future and family, and the last thing I said to him was i love you, and have fun. What is there to regret? And if I could have chosen the best way for him to die, it would have been like that. Only about twenty-five or thirty years from now, of course. But he didn't leave anything unfinished. I think Mom's handling it better than he would have, too. She was the root; it's easier for a plant to come up from the root than take new root from a cutting. And if he was done with what he needed to do, this lifetime, how can I regret that he didn't linger around, fading?
On the other hand, the denial thing is entirely plausible.
My period ended suddenly, a week ago Saturday. It started up again yesterday.