The Hard Part
This week's festivities were the first funeral I have ever actually attended. The estrangement tradition within my own birth family makes the burn 'em, scatter 'em and forget 'em approach downright sensible. The custom of displaying and parading corpses around town hits my senses as downright ghoulish from that perspective. For the in-law funerals, I have been able to look noble hiding behind the children. You can't really expect a 2 year old to make sense of all that. . . Even for this funeral, I spent far more of the proceedings in the outdoor smoking room than in the parlor receiving proper platitudes. The yaddahs of those blahs kept me skittering on the brink between fight and flight. Accept all those platitudinous hugs? ? ? Get your mitts off my body, pervert! ! !
I do sense myself as a wolf spirit, even on the days I can still carry on with the attempts I started with my Catholic initiation in 1998 at the age of 44. Canine to the core. Arfity arf arf and a woofity woof for dialectically impaired. Wolves breed for life. Even beaten crazy ones. Family isnae about right or wrong. Family is about being complete. I havenae fully recovered from the amputation of my birth family. Their absence has haunted my life like the Phantom Limb Syndrome haunts an physical amputee. That limb is *supposed* to be there and it itches harder in its absence than it ever did in its presence. I can do for my current family what I wouldnae even consider doing for myself. With that first day with the grief shocked children, that custom of displaying and parading corpses around town felt critical. These babies need as much closure as we can give them. Beaten crazy bitch wolf on the howl. . . These babies WILL have as much closure as we can give them. Arfin in progress. . . Move it or lose it, Bubba/Bubbette. But you still better keep your pervy mitts off my body! ! ! Some things is strictly personal. My aversion to touch is seldom absent in my broken life. Unless you are still young and cute, of course. Don't hand me that young-at-heart claptrap. It takes more than a cultural delusion to fool a wolf nose. Hand me that fertilizer and I willnae respect you enough to argue. Yes dear, your dye job makes you look five years deeper in delusion. The boob job and wattle tuck makes you look ever so fuckable, old girl. Fuck on over-aged fuck bunny.
The children arenae the only members of the family who are showing mean streaks here in these hard days of trying to establish the new regime. Hubs and I scared the unholy shit out of the children yesterday with a sudden erruption of anger between us over the housing upgrade. I am grateful to report that we caught ourselves before it escalated into a tit-for-tat skirmish and kept our proactive focus on comforting the children. We plied our still new bracketing tool in the predawn darkness in tones quiet enough to avoid waking the children from their restless sleep. The baby has been sleeping well. The rest of us are sleeping fitfully.
Why can't life be easy? Prayers in progress. . .
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It is so clear when you write about it that you and hubs have taken to your core the love for your GKids. Im adding extra prayers that you both also get to process all the tears and angers of the tragic loss even as you focus on the needs of your charges. Triple hugs for ouchies and NFF my friend.
Like you, I too do not go in the the 'viewing' method. I also have only been to two "open" viewings and hugging....not for me. Quite frankly, I think on top of the pain of loss, to endure the hand shaking/hugs and 'open viewing' is just another cruel emotional slap in the face of loss. In my own family we did not have No Way Any Wake, only the good ole food and plenty of Alcohol, lots of pasted on smiles after the service party hardy Irish with hollow legs.
The days of planning were filled with stiffened upper lip, miss directed anger, as were the brain fogs in my mind, focused only on vivid specific 'need to do'...nothing more. Finding One Person, to direct my anger towards...yes, mainly one person, the antagonist of the person who passed. Somehow my own anger seemed to forge me ahead, stiff upper lip, don't feel, don't think, keep moving forward. Keep Busy. With the exception of my Dear Sister, I went psychotic after days of no sleep, to the 'other side of ice blue insanity'....my cover.
Thinking those first couple of months the emotions, clouded Everything in my world into a thickness that was not really cleared for a couple of months....that was when I needed those hugs, phone calls, people to talk to in person....they were back into living their lives. Easy? there is no easy, even for tiny newborn babies...leaving a world of safety and comfort is not easy. And yes, Mega Prayers continue for Your's and All's Greatest Good~~
I'm a wolf spirit, too, arfie, experiencing what you say when you write that the estrangement common in my family has "haunted my life like the Phantom Limb Syndrome haunts an physical amputee." That's why I can only imagine what this funeral has been like for you now. That's why I'm here to support you because you are so well focused when you write here: "These babies WILL have as much closure as we can give them." We can't fix everything, but we can do that much for the next generation we have with us still. You ask why life can't be easy, and I honestly don't know why it has to be this hard, but the work of prayer for you and your babies goes on.
mlro, thank you so much- leaving a world of safety and comfort is not easy... I am working at doing just that. I am Arfie"s most beloved sister. the impulse to rush to help Arfie with these struggles, just to be there for her, whatever was needed, was enough to get me to try to get there as quick as possible. Arfie knows the difference between rush and quick. the harder I work at leaving my safe and comfortable home in good and comfortable condition for those left behind will help me feel so much better then a rush would have.
I know a mind fog Is not a good feeling but it sounded good to hear I have time to get there, hopefully, before the need for hugs are needed.
Hopes and Prayers, Prayers and Hopes, hold them tight till my hand is there...
And so the aftershocks continue. My first wake and funeral was my father's; 9 months later was my mother's. 18 years later was a sister in law's, which was an emotional overload of crying and screaming grief. I decided that I would not attend another. I shall be cremated, and the ashes sent to my niece to send into the ocean.
No predicting when the aftershocks will arrive, or from where, Just know we do understand, and we stand beside you. Prayers as all adjust in their own way.
Bless You Dear Beloved Sister, and strength to push through your own fog, In Your Time....as with my Dear Friend, Arfie....it's all "in your time and no time frame'...beginning or ending the process of loss. At the age of 3, I lost my birth father, he was never talked about....Then at 30 I lost my sister in 1984...from that psychotic break, to 2006 at 53, I lost my brother, then my Aunt six months later....the last of my family. My mind still fogs, yet I'm able to live. I still have breathing tears from the pain of loss....they can start flowing for No Reason, for Any Reasons....washing my heart....like you, Hopes and Prayers and Prayers and Hopes...holding tight until the breathing tears, if ever? return to ~just breathing~
Yes, Delusional Old Sis (DOS), I remain fanatical in my belief that it is faster to do it right the first time, or at least give your honest best to your best guess at what is right. 'Tis amazing how often my best guess turns out to be another brick in The Road to Hell. Sigh. . . Maybe I should have stayed in my hidey hole with a bigger rock over the opening.
The need for hugs is hard upon us. Hubs and I are singing Billie Holiday these days.
"Might as well get used to you hanging around.
"Good morning, heartache, sit down."
Still. . . It remains faster to do it right the first time, whenever possible. Letting the Gnarly Old Dickhead lead the dance.
I think your best guesses at this time are helping all; no bricks allowed. If any show up, we shall haul them away. Hugs.
Yea, I figure the best guess is all any of us get. Keep cleaning tools handy for the missed guesses. Nobody gets 'em all.
Compost happens.