Human After All

Today was the memorial service for my uncle. I have been thinking about him and about my memories of him. He was always such a funny guy with a sailor's mouth and a wicked sense of humor. I decided earlier this week that I think the squirmy feeling I have had around him in the past several years is kind of a 'guilt by association' thing: he was nice to me when I was a kid, had patience with me, played with me - just like the one who hurt me. I was still feeling badly for not feeling badly though. I mean, I loved him, a lot. And he's gone. And it didn't really bother me too much.

So I drove the three and a half hours to the area he lived in, the area where most of my mother's family is. And I met up with my mother and several other relatives just before we went to the service. And I was fine - until I went to get out of the car. Then I got hit by a wave of panic. (This despite a double-dose of my anxiety stuff to prevent this very thing.) So I shifted mental gears, got out of the car and was fine. We chatted for maybe 10 minutes before heading over to the church.

By the time we got to the church, I was calm again and back in front. I followed my dad into a parking space, looked to my left, saw my cousin (my uncle's youngest son) and... freaked out. Took me several minutes to convince myself to get out of the car. I ended up shifting gears a little stronger and practically watching from the sidelines. Then I got out, and followed my parents into the crowd of people who seemed to know me but who I couldn't place for the world.

I was scared. I was scared of all those people. They kept looking at me. So many of them are related to me but I don't know them. And half of them would say things like, "Oh you must be [my mother]'s daughter! You look just like her!" And I would be left trying to pretend I had a clue in the world who they were. In addition, I didn't know what to say to people. "Gee it sucks he's dead." just doesn't come off right. "I'm sorry for your loss." doesn't cover it. To my close relatives who I knew were most affected, I mostly said "How are you holding up?" and to everyone else it was generally "It's been so long since I've seen you. I wish it were under better circumstances."

Even so, while I was now upset, it wasn't because I was sad. I was just plain scared of the people. (They kept looking at me!)

Then we walked into the church. And I saw my uncle's granddaughters who lived with him and my aunt. And my stomach clenched up. And my heart did a little skippity-thump. And I felt like the air suddenly didn't have enough oxygen in it. Tears welled up behind my eyes.

He's dead. Uncle 'Jack' is dead.

And it all came into focus and became real. I felt sad. I felt the loss of a great man and a good uncle. I felt the pain of all the memories that wouldn't be made. I wasn't devastated and broken up and torn apart and unable to breathe/cope/think/whatever. But it wasn't just a dry fact anymore. My uncle is dead and I will never see the shit-filled twinkle in his eye or watch him pull another practical joke or flip the bird to the camera or make some smart-assed insult that is actually a compliment (and everyone knows it). Never again. My uncle is dead.

And I hugged my aunt and his children and some of my other aunts and cousins and their various children and spouses. I listened to the service. And I cried a little. And I laughed a lot. The service wasn't a pity party. It was in memory of him. At one point the pastor read a poem by one of his granddaughters and she says if he could see us now, he'd be pissed as hell at us for making such a big deal out of it and if he could, he'd come back cussing us out. People stood up and shared memories. There was a picture collage his daughter put together. The church was packed with standing room only. Even my grandma made it, which is a tremendously difficult thing to do (and was always done by him in the past).

It wasn't real for me until I got there. I thought about that on my way home. I was the same way when Hubby's grandmother died. She and I had been very close at the end. I'm the one who took her to the hospital that last time with Hubby's dad. But when she died, I didn't cry. I didn't feel much of anything. And I was furious with myself for it. But when I got to the viewing, I lost it. I broke down crying and didn't stop for a long time. When my grandma died, I was drunk as a skunk at a bachelorette party. I made Hubby take me over to my parents' house, where she died, so I could see her for myself. And I lost it immediately. I tried to convince her to eat the chocolate bar I had brought to her earlier that day. But once I sobered up, I felt blank. It just was. Until it came time for the viewing. And I lost it. I started crying and didn't stop for days.

Apparently this is just how I am. It doesn't really sink in until then. I'm not a callous, evil bitch for not getting upset. It just takes a little more than being told about it to make the death real. Uncle "Jack's" death is real now.

Rest in peace, Uncle Dick. 64 years is too short a time for this world to have you but I'm sure you're having a blast raising Hell in Heaven. I LOVE YOU!

Things I Remember:
- being tickled until I literally peed my pants
- homemade ice cream on the front porch and him trying to explain to me why we needed salt to make it when ice cream wasn't salty
- thinking his middle name was Cranium because my aunt called him Richard Cranium around us kids when he was causing trouble (which was always)
- falling asleep in his lap after Thanksgiving dinner
- his patience
- the twinkle in his eye that made it obvious he was up to (a good-natured) no good
- that he was always there for everyone no matter what they needed or how far away they were
- him telling me that eating watermelon seeds would make a watermelon grow in your tummy - when he knew my one aunt was pregnant... then telling me she had eaten watermelon seeds the next time I saw her and she was VERY pregnant
- rides on his shoulders
- hanging upside down from his arms
- watching truly awful old black and white westerns while visiting his house
- him treating my kids just like he treated me
- him disappearing at 5:30 in the morning the last weekend I stayed at their house (a little over a year and a half ago) only to return with milk, orange juice, donuts and a newspaper - for me
- that I loved him very very much