Today is my grandfather’s memorial. I am not there with my family because I did not want to be. I do not feel the need for the theatrics of a memorial. Those things are really for those the deceased left behind to help ease the grieving process. I am not in mourning, so I don’t need that scene like some of the other members of my family do. I don’t feel like pretending that I do either (I could never get the Southern façade of faked emotion and graciousness for propriety’s sake down), so I thought it was just best if my cynicism and I stayed behind.
I am sorry that I couldn’t be closer to him, and I am sorry that I never got a chance to know him when my grandmother was alive. Everyone says he was happier and more normal around her. I like to think that maybe I would have been able to stomach him more then. Alas, life did not work out that way, and my cousins and I unfortunately got the version of him as a grandfather that we did. “Families are tricky,” as a friend recently remarked to me. Some are trickier than others, and no one’s is perfect. I like to think that for those of us who are, being part of really fucked up families just helps us develop discerning taste when it comes to the friends with whom we surround ourselves. I’m looking forward to a quiet holiday weekend with my parents and some of our dear friends once the mess of all this recent death has settled. We can start planning the next chapter the new year will bring.