I have been having trouble relating to people recently. I have trouble relating to people when I'm in a relationship. I have trouble relating to people when they're in a relationship. I have trouble relating to people when I'm in a relationship and they're in a relationship.
I'm good at and comfortable with being alone. I'm good at and mostly comfortable with being attached to and living with someone. Got some problems with the in-between bits.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Saturday, August 24, 2013
How I Built my Time Machine
I learned to time travel when I was 21. Or maybe it was 20. I'm not exactly sure when the exact turnover date was in retrospect, but at some point I just stopped and the world kept on truckin'. I know this, because I just woke up and it's 2013, and when I went to sleep it was 1997. They have a fancy name for and a hit-or-miss sitcom in homage to this phenomenon, but really, when you're the one experiencing it, the best way to describe is "time travel."
I know I'm not the only one staggering confused, into a bright, confusing dawn. And I know there are still more, safely ensconced in their pods, skin coated in a non-adaptive shell that ensures that information born by experience will never penetrate the outer layer and disrupt the sleeper within. Like me, they'll just keep replaying the same dreams in the same loop over and over until their shell cracks, until their shell has no purpose anymore, one way or the other.
I don't know how it feels for them, but for me it was and is like being stuck in a loop, an endless groundhog day, except unlike Bill Murray's character, the rest of the world kept on flowing by without me and I wasn't really learning anything. Also no Andie McDowell.
I have lived out the same crushes, over and over, with the same people, long after the window to forge a bond had passed. I would reach out to them, later in the day, to clear up a problem we'd just had yesterday, to find they'd traveled forward in time a few years and had long since moved on. They were just as confused as I was I think. You don't meet a time traveler every day. I did this over and over, and I could never remember my chance with them had passed. Why would I? We had been good friends just yesterday. And it was only the next day. It was always the same day, the next day. How could their feelings change so much in just one day?
It was always the same day, and I was always that bright college kid full of potential. Tomorrow I was going to fulfill my potential. Tomorrow I was going to change the world. Tomorrow I was going to meet the right girl. Tomorrow I was going to find some sort of compromise between objective reality and the religious worldview I'd been raised in. Tomorrow I was going to tell my parents I wasn't quite the person they thought I was. Tomorrow I was going to figure it out. As soon as it quit being today. As soon as it quits being today. Man I've had a long day.
I think there's a glitch in my software. I think there's a glitch in my software. I think it triggers when I can't reconcile my internal world with the external world and I just start looping. I think I glitch when my internal and external worlds aren't flush. I don't think I ever really wanted to be a physicist, I think it was just expected of me, and I, in my youthful idiocy, which I remember like it was yesterday (because it was), thought it would be a great way for people to think I'm smart. "Oh you're a scientist? How smart you must be." they might say. And some did say. All day, on that same day. And I would glitch. My brain would itch and I would glitch. I don't feel that smart today.
Having stepped outside of my time machine, having re-engaged my shell with the Flow of Things, having gotten on the fucking ski lift chair that I mostly just watch as it scoots on by, for a few precious moments, from time to time, in what I understand is considered Objective Reality proceeding at the Usual Pace, I think I have seen that I am not the best scientist. It was hard to tell on that endless day, but I don't have the interest in it. I'm smart enough to process the results, I'm probably smart enough to do it well, but I don't think it interests me enough. The smell of it. The everyday of it. The culture surrounding it. Although it might be too early to tell, I've only been doing it for a day.
I don't think I have the right temperament for the Grand Pursuit of Science. I think it is Not For Me. I think I would honestly be happier just reading about it. I think my passions lie in different realms that rest on a slightly different philosophical premise. I think I know this, but I've been thinking that all day. Has anyone noticed the sun has set more than a few times today? Why doesn't anyone else find that strange?
I think I solved the biggest glitch though. I think it is fixed. I think that part of my brain has been de-bugged. Patch 1.5 has been deployed. I did that yesterday I think. I think it's a hell of a thing to find men incredibly attractive. I think when I felt that way, and I saw my father making fun of Liberace, it caused a glitch. I think when my camp director disowned his son for serving the Grand Pursuit of Satan because his son was honest about what he wanted and what he wanted wasn't girls, it caused a glitch. It was going to be tomorrow, but then it was today again. Because tomorrow I was gay. Or bisexual. Or some fucking other that wasn't a straight boy sitting in church with a wife and four children. Tomorrow I was asking that boy out. Tomorrow I might get disowned or sent to reparitive therapy or get made fun of or get the shit kicked out of me or killed because I smiled at the wrong guy. So today there was a glitch. Today I can just watch the ski lift chairs go by, people chatting happily as they are dragged into tomorrow, further up and further in. They are not screaming as they are dragged into tomorrow. I really envy them for not screaming.
My therapist calls it dissociation. I think dissociation is just a fancy word for time travel. Well, relativity makes labels hard. Either I'm traveling back, further back, fast enough to stay exactly where I am, or you lot have secrets you're not telling me and you're all rocketing forward into the future. How dare you. Tell me your secrets. I must know. Seriously, I don't want to die this way.
I pulled up anchor when I came out of the closet to frolic with like-minded sailors. I left my Tardis when the constant abrasions of a bad relationship and the ceaseless flow of temporal sand became too painful to stay still. I found a golden line attached to the Usual Pace and pulled until I was floating along the same as the rest of you.
But time traveling is not a habit you give up easily. It is powerful and seductive being a weird sort of timelord. From time to time I still drop anchor when I can't make sense of the world. When the world has to stop for a while so I can make sense of what I see tomorrow. So I can figure out how to live with being a 20-year-old in a 37-year-old body. "It's okay, I'm living out some sort of Freaky Friday narrative with no good jokes," I can tell nobody. I've been trying to figure out how to process that today. It's been today for 3 months now.
As powerful as my time travel abilities are, I can't keep my shell from aging. I've become keenly aware that however long I linger on today, this shell will eventually reach it's natural expiration date without me and I sill be dragged on to whatever's next. Tomorrow will eventually win the war. Tomorrow is already winning. I am losing ground against tomorrow. Oddly, I am the least afraid of dying as I've ever been, even though I no longer believe in the traditional afterlife promised in my youth to all good stewards of the church. It is still today, but I understand I could die today if the universe seemed hellbent on the idea. It's not my idea of a good time, but ultimately one has to accept one is not an immortal god who will not be saved by science, Jesus or faeries. One has to accept that one's shell has an egg timer on it that will eventually pop your toast, as the kids say. Even in my time machine I have noticed that nobody's shell seems to get out of here alive, no matter what they believe, think or do. The nice thing about today is that it is not yesterday, that long, endless yesterday, and I have learned things today. Only a couple things, but I have learned them. And one of them is that our shells are designed to grow and to bloom but also to whither and die, but that's okay. So I don't fear dying, I just fear dying today. Dying with all the shit I've wanted to do tomorrow undone. That shit I've wanted to do since it was yesterday. That shit has not been on the docket today.
I think a warrior would not have a problem with today. Or tomorrow. He would just keep slicing at tomorrow until it looked more like today. Charging the borders between now and then until he'd annexed tomorrow and looted its precious natural resources. Tacking hard against the wind and the endless flow of time to chart his own course. Dancing nimbly as the ground shifted unceasingly under his feet. A whirling cyclone of chaos and change, carving into the future. I admire warriors. I hear they have a guild. I am thinking of applying. I want to come out and play.
Tomorrow maybe. I've been stuck in this goddamn time machine all day.
I know I'm not the only one staggering confused, into a bright, confusing dawn. And I know there are still more, safely ensconced in their pods, skin coated in a non-adaptive shell that ensures that information born by experience will never penetrate the outer layer and disrupt the sleeper within. Like me, they'll just keep replaying the same dreams in the same loop over and over until their shell cracks, until their shell has no purpose anymore, one way or the other.
I don't know how it feels for them, but for me it was and is like being stuck in a loop, an endless groundhog day, except unlike Bill Murray's character, the rest of the world kept on flowing by without me and I wasn't really learning anything. Also no Andie McDowell.
I have lived out the same crushes, over and over, with the same people, long after the window to forge a bond had passed. I would reach out to them, later in the day, to clear up a problem we'd just had yesterday, to find they'd traveled forward in time a few years and had long since moved on. They were just as confused as I was I think. You don't meet a time traveler every day. I did this over and over, and I could never remember my chance with them had passed. Why would I? We had been good friends just yesterday. And it was only the next day. It was always the same day, the next day. How could their feelings change so much in just one day?
It was always the same day, and I was always that bright college kid full of potential. Tomorrow I was going to fulfill my potential. Tomorrow I was going to change the world. Tomorrow I was going to meet the right girl. Tomorrow I was going to find some sort of compromise between objective reality and the religious worldview I'd been raised in. Tomorrow I was going to tell my parents I wasn't quite the person they thought I was. Tomorrow I was going to figure it out. As soon as it quit being today. As soon as it quits being today. Man I've had a long day.
I think there's a glitch in my software. I think there's a glitch in my software. I think it triggers when I can't reconcile my internal world with the external world and I just start looping. I think I glitch when my internal and external worlds aren't flush. I don't think I ever really wanted to be a physicist, I think it was just expected of me, and I, in my youthful idiocy, which I remember like it was yesterday (because it was), thought it would be a great way for people to think I'm smart. "Oh you're a scientist? How smart you must be." they might say. And some did say. All day, on that same day. And I would glitch. My brain would itch and I would glitch. I don't feel that smart today.
Having stepped outside of my time machine, having re-engaged my shell with the Flow of Things, having gotten on the fucking ski lift chair that I mostly just watch as it scoots on by, for a few precious moments, from time to time, in what I understand is considered Objective Reality proceeding at the Usual Pace, I think I have seen that I am not the best scientist. It was hard to tell on that endless day, but I don't have the interest in it. I'm smart enough to process the results, I'm probably smart enough to do it well, but I don't think it interests me enough. The smell of it. The everyday of it. The culture surrounding it. Although it might be too early to tell, I've only been doing it for a day.
I don't think I have the right temperament for the Grand Pursuit of Science. I think it is Not For Me. I think I would honestly be happier just reading about it. I think my passions lie in different realms that rest on a slightly different philosophical premise. I think I know this, but I've been thinking that all day. Has anyone noticed the sun has set more than a few times today? Why doesn't anyone else find that strange?
I think I solved the biggest glitch though. I think it is fixed. I think that part of my brain has been de-bugged. Patch 1.5 has been deployed. I did that yesterday I think. I think it's a hell of a thing to find men incredibly attractive. I think when I felt that way, and I saw my father making fun of Liberace, it caused a glitch. I think when my camp director disowned his son for serving the Grand Pursuit of Satan because his son was honest about what he wanted and what he wanted wasn't girls, it caused a glitch. It was going to be tomorrow, but then it was today again. Because tomorrow I was gay. Or bisexual. Or some fucking other that wasn't a straight boy sitting in church with a wife and four children. Tomorrow I was asking that boy out. Tomorrow I might get disowned or sent to reparitive therapy or get made fun of or get the shit kicked out of me or killed because I smiled at the wrong guy. So today there was a glitch. Today I can just watch the ski lift chairs go by, people chatting happily as they are dragged into tomorrow, further up and further in. They are not screaming as they are dragged into tomorrow. I really envy them for not screaming.
My therapist calls it dissociation. I think dissociation is just a fancy word for time travel. Well, relativity makes labels hard. Either I'm traveling back, further back, fast enough to stay exactly where I am, or you lot have secrets you're not telling me and you're all rocketing forward into the future. How dare you. Tell me your secrets. I must know. Seriously, I don't want to die this way.
I pulled up anchor when I came out of the closet to frolic with like-minded sailors. I left my Tardis when the constant abrasions of a bad relationship and the ceaseless flow of temporal sand became too painful to stay still. I found a golden line attached to the Usual Pace and pulled until I was floating along the same as the rest of you.
But time traveling is not a habit you give up easily. It is powerful and seductive being a weird sort of timelord. From time to time I still drop anchor when I can't make sense of the world. When the world has to stop for a while so I can make sense of what I see tomorrow. So I can figure out how to live with being a 20-year-old in a 37-year-old body. "It's okay, I'm living out some sort of Freaky Friday narrative with no good jokes," I can tell nobody. I've been trying to figure out how to process that today. It's been today for 3 months now.
As powerful as my time travel abilities are, I can't keep my shell from aging. I've become keenly aware that however long I linger on today, this shell will eventually reach it's natural expiration date without me and I sill be dragged on to whatever's next. Tomorrow will eventually win the war. Tomorrow is already winning. I am losing ground against tomorrow. Oddly, I am the least afraid of dying as I've ever been, even though I no longer believe in the traditional afterlife promised in my youth to all good stewards of the church. It is still today, but I understand I could die today if the universe seemed hellbent on the idea. It's not my idea of a good time, but ultimately one has to accept one is not an immortal god who will not be saved by science, Jesus or faeries. One has to accept that one's shell has an egg timer on it that will eventually pop your toast, as the kids say. Even in my time machine I have noticed that nobody's shell seems to get out of here alive, no matter what they believe, think or do. The nice thing about today is that it is not yesterday, that long, endless yesterday, and I have learned things today. Only a couple things, but I have learned them. And one of them is that our shells are designed to grow and to bloom but also to whither and die, but that's okay. So I don't fear dying, I just fear dying today. Dying with all the shit I've wanted to do tomorrow undone. That shit I've wanted to do since it was yesterday. That shit has not been on the docket today.
I think a warrior would not have a problem with today. Or tomorrow. He would just keep slicing at tomorrow until it looked more like today. Charging the borders between now and then until he'd annexed tomorrow and looted its precious natural resources. Tacking hard against the wind and the endless flow of time to chart his own course. Dancing nimbly as the ground shifted unceasingly under his feet. A whirling cyclone of chaos and change, carving into the future. I admire warriors. I hear they have a guild. I am thinking of applying. I want to come out and play.
Tomorrow maybe. I've been stuck in this goddamn time machine all day.
Wednesday, August 07, 2013
Moments on a Funeral Day
Cousin K will not stop talking on the drive over. I got up insanely early, I'm too tired to do more than grunt in reply to most sentences, and yet the chatter never stops. Just brief pauses, a taste of silence and the open road, before it is snatched away by tales of how he likes to tease his son with asperger syndrome about his liberal views on gun control. Or how he likes to ride by himself into the mountains on his motorcycle where there are no cell phones. I don't believe it. I don't see how he can ride for that long without talking to someone. Maybe he just talks to himself. That I can see.
I like cousin K, but man he can talk.
******
Cousin D has jokingly threatened to shave my hair the same way he always does when I appear something other than conservative, republican and christian. No, I would not have dyed my hair blue if I'd known I was coming to a funeral today with this half of the family. I laugh amiably.
"I will cut his hands off if he touches my hair," I think. I'm not really violent, but I have a hard time with the constant "why don't you conform better to my sensibilities?" kind of ribbing I typically get from him. I try and remember that everyone is sad today under the surface. And this time, the visit doesn't have to be about me, my super gayness and how much I don't fit with this family anymore. It's a funeral day and it's not about me. It's kind of a relief to be honest.
I end up reminding myself of this a lot throughout the day.
******
"So H, when you getting married?" my Uncle R asks. I like uncle R, but I'm surprised he doesn't know. There was a panicked flurry of phone calls discussing the horrible news when I first came out, but apparently it never made it's way to him.
"Not for a long time," I say lightly. I decline to get into the specifics.
******
My cousin A is at the funeral home for the viewing. We have one of the best talks we've ever had as she unloads about how hard everything has been. Apparently she took a lot of the work load, along with her aunt V in caring for great aunt D (her grandmother) the last few months of her life. A has three children and a full time job so to say it's been a sacrifice is an understatement.
Her father, cousin D, won't come see his mother's body. Neither will any of the other two brothers. One doesn't even come up for the funeral (although how much that was a fear of flying and a refusal to face loss I don't know). It is here I learn that cousin D has been in absolute denial since his mother decided to stop treatment a just do pain management. he has been finding any excuse not to help, to be away, to not deal with the loss of his mom. He does not have the tools to process this event, and because my family is built on Adventist patriarchy, there is no one above him to call him on his shit, in a tough love kind of way. His daughter is furious at him. Both because he hasn't been helping and he apparently spoke to her dismissively about all she'd done to help his mom.
I feel sympathy for cousin A. She is good people. Selfishly, I feel much better about the constant teasing from my elder cousins. They don't have their shit together either, even though they plant all the right tribal markers. But I imagine the death of a loved one is enough to make anyone burst a little at the seams. I try and take it as another reminder to be kinder.
******
Great aunt D's viewing is lovely. They did an amazing job on her body. She looks peaceful, beautiful. I can almost see her breathing.
The only thing that bothers me is the only thing that ever bothers me at a funeral: the fingers. The fingers don't look right with no animating force. They look too flat. They are not how fingers should look. I don't like that so much. But I march up and take a quiet moment to pay my respects anyway. It's a funeral day, and it isn't about me. Aunt D was always nice to me.
******
The service is rough. Everyone is having a hard day. My great aunt D's brother V died the day after she did, also of natural causes, but his daughter is there anyway, just to be around family. There's way more Jesus talk than I'm comfortable with, and I have to remind myself again that it's not about me. The belief that they will get to see their departed loved ones again is a balm to them, and I understand that.
The pictures from her life are beautiful. She had a hard life, much harder than mine, and made quite a bit with it. She didn't have a room of her own until she was married. She slept on the couch through her entire childhood because the houses only ever had two room and it was six brothers in the one and her parents in the other. She became a registered nurse who married a non-adventist soldier, who died tragically in a construction accident at age 54. She never remarried because he was the only one for her and she wanted to be reunited with him at the resurrection. I'm not sure the world works that way, but I admire her loyalty and love just the same.
******
My grandfather doesn't recognize me at first. I've been warned he's not "there" as much as he used to be. He has a sharp motorized chair now, and an elevator device so my grandmother doesn't have to muscle him into a tall truck anymore. Honestly, how she ever muscled him into the truck without it is somewhat amazing to me. Even in a wheelchair he has enough left-over mass from a life of hard ranch work to make the task difficult. My grandmother is the living embodiment of Norwegian stoicism and toughness.
He scoots over in our general direction, going off on a tangent for no discernible reason. It's honestly hard to tell if he's just playing, or doesn't really know what's going on. He was always somewhat mute and inscrutable even in the best of health. My grandmother asks if he recognizes "this guy", pointing at me. We make eye contact, and there's not a glimmer of recognition.
"No, don't think so." he says.
"Sure you do, it's your grandson H, V's boy." my grandmother says loudly, his hearing is going too. He looks at me again and a light dawns, and then he smiles. "Well, it's hard to tell, he keeps changing!" We all laugh. I have blue hair, and the time before it was green, and the time before it was a terrible pony-tail with a bad black dye job and the time before it was something else I'm sure. It's a more insightful response than anyone was expecting, but I know what I saw. He didn't recognize me for a second. Mom says he's kind of confused about where he is and what he's doing in general sometimes.
I don't know what to do with or about this information, but I have sympathy. His body betrayed him with a stroke, and now his mind is starting to slip a little too. I imagine this is difficult for someone as notoriously self-reliant as my grandfather.
At the viewing he won't go in at first. His daughter C finally gets him to go, forcing him to look. I leave the room. It seems too crowded suddenly. He leaves with tissue in his hands and red eyes. I think he is "there" enough to know his only sister is gone. I suspect he is more "there" than anyone is giving him credit for and his sorrow is the proof. Like the rest of the men in my family, he probably doesn't have a great tool set for dealing with his own emotions. I wish I knew how to help him.
I shake his hand, and say good-bye as I get ready to leave. Cousin K is edging towards the door, and the line of well-wishers snagging him into long goodbyes will only last so long, so I'd better be ready to go. Grandpa snags my sleeve as grandma rolls him by a couple minutes later, and looks up at me with watering eyes. He knows me, he loves me, he wants me to come see them at the ranch sometime.
"Anytime," grandma says. No mention is made of my boyfriend. But today is not about me.
******
My dad asks about my boyfriend M. His interest seems unforced. Makes sure I tell him "hi." Mom does the same. I have a good conversation with him about why he can't stand onions. It was hard to tell at first, but I think things are getting better now that I'm not hiding the truth about myself.
******
Cousin K is very quiet on the ride home, it has been a long day for all of us. I am very grateful for the relative silence. We stop at a Mcdonalds in a gas station int he middle of nowhere. There is a guy watching a video on the free wi-fi in the lobby. He must drive trucks. I don't understand why he'd stop and waste time in middle of a journey otherwise.
I arrive home to noisy, demanding cats and a handsome boyfriend who has been waiting patiently. The cats would probably insist I switch those adjectives, but of course cats would. I don't know how many funerals my family expects me to attend without my own emotional support in tow, but I don't know how many more days like that I want to do solo either. I suspect bringing the man I love will cause a bigger stir than blue hair. I think I have the right to having a supportive partner nearby on a hard day as much as they do and it frustrates me that it would even be an issue. But it would. Or so I imagine.
I admit, I find it frustrating to find the line on what is right in dealing with my family, especially on days that are not about me.
I like cousin K, but man he can talk.
******
Cousin D has jokingly threatened to shave my hair the same way he always does when I appear something other than conservative, republican and christian. No, I would not have dyed my hair blue if I'd known I was coming to a funeral today with this half of the family. I laugh amiably.
"I will cut his hands off if he touches my hair," I think. I'm not really violent, but I have a hard time with the constant "why don't you conform better to my sensibilities?" kind of ribbing I typically get from him. I try and remember that everyone is sad today under the surface. And this time, the visit doesn't have to be about me, my super gayness and how much I don't fit with this family anymore. It's a funeral day and it's not about me. It's kind of a relief to be honest.
I end up reminding myself of this a lot throughout the day.
******
"So H, when you getting married?" my Uncle R asks. I like uncle R, but I'm surprised he doesn't know. There was a panicked flurry of phone calls discussing the horrible news when I first came out, but apparently it never made it's way to him.
"Not for a long time," I say lightly. I decline to get into the specifics.
******
My cousin A is at the funeral home for the viewing. We have one of the best talks we've ever had as she unloads about how hard everything has been. Apparently she took a lot of the work load, along with her aunt V in caring for great aunt D (her grandmother) the last few months of her life. A has three children and a full time job so to say it's been a sacrifice is an understatement.
Her father, cousin D, won't come see his mother's body. Neither will any of the other two brothers. One doesn't even come up for the funeral (although how much that was a fear of flying and a refusal to face loss I don't know). It is here I learn that cousin D has been in absolute denial since his mother decided to stop treatment a just do pain management. he has been finding any excuse not to help, to be away, to not deal with the loss of his mom. He does not have the tools to process this event, and because my family is built on Adventist patriarchy, there is no one above him to call him on his shit, in a tough love kind of way. His daughter is furious at him. Both because he hasn't been helping and he apparently spoke to her dismissively about all she'd done to help his mom.
I feel sympathy for cousin A. She is good people. Selfishly, I feel much better about the constant teasing from my elder cousins. They don't have their shit together either, even though they plant all the right tribal markers. But I imagine the death of a loved one is enough to make anyone burst a little at the seams. I try and take it as another reminder to be kinder.
******
Great aunt D's viewing is lovely. They did an amazing job on her body. She looks peaceful, beautiful. I can almost see her breathing.
The only thing that bothers me is the only thing that ever bothers me at a funeral: the fingers. The fingers don't look right with no animating force. They look too flat. They are not how fingers should look. I don't like that so much. But I march up and take a quiet moment to pay my respects anyway. It's a funeral day, and it isn't about me. Aunt D was always nice to me.
******
The service is rough. Everyone is having a hard day. My great aunt D's brother V died the day after she did, also of natural causes, but his daughter is there anyway, just to be around family. There's way more Jesus talk than I'm comfortable with, and I have to remind myself again that it's not about me. The belief that they will get to see their departed loved ones again is a balm to them, and I understand that.
The pictures from her life are beautiful. She had a hard life, much harder than mine, and made quite a bit with it. She didn't have a room of her own until she was married. She slept on the couch through her entire childhood because the houses only ever had two room and it was six brothers in the one and her parents in the other. She became a registered nurse who married a non-adventist soldier, who died tragically in a construction accident at age 54. She never remarried because he was the only one for her and she wanted to be reunited with him at the resurrection. I'm not sure the world works that way, but I admire her loyalty and love just the same.
******
My grandfather doesn't recognize me at first. I've been warned he's not "there" as much as he used to be. He has a sharp motorized chair now, and an elevator device so my grandmother doesn't have to muscle him into a tall truck anymore. Honestly, how she ever muscled him into the truck without it is somewhat amazing to me. Even in a wheelchair he has enough left-over mass from a life of hard ranch work to make the task difficult. My grandmother is the living embodiment of Norwegian stoicism and toughness.
He scoots over in our general direction, going off on a tangent for no discernible reason. It's honestly hard to tell if he's just playing, or doesn't really know what's going on. He was always somewhat mute and inscrutable even in the best of health. My grandmother asks if he recognizes "this guy", pointing at me. We make eye contact, and there's not a glimmer of recognition.
"No, don't think so." he says.
"Sure you do, it's your grandson H, V's boy." my grandmother says loudly, his hearing is going too. He looks at me again and a light dawns, and then he smiles. "Well, it's hard to tell, he keeps changing!" We all laugh. I have blue hair, and the time before it was green, and the time before it was a terrible pony-tail with a bad black dye job and the time before it was something else I'm sure. It's a more insightful response than anyone was expecting, but I know what I saw. He didn't recognize me for a second. Mom says he's kind of confused about where he is and what he's doing in general sometimes.
I don't know what to do with or about this information, but I have sympathy. His body betrayed him with a stroke, and now his mind is starting to slip a little too. I imagine this is difficult for someone as notoriously self-reliant as my grandfather.
At the viewing he won't go in at first. His daughter C finally gets him to go, forcing him to look. I leave the room. It seems too crowded suddenly. He leaves with tissue in his hands and red eyes. I think he is "there" enough to know his only sister is gone. I suspect he is more "there" than anyone is giving him credit for and his sorrow is the proof. Like the rest of the men in my family, he probably doesn't have a great tool set for dealing with his own emotions. I wish I knew how to help him.
I shake his hand, and say good-bye as I get ready to leave. Cousin K is edging towards the door, and the line of well-wishers snagging him into long goodbyes will only last so long, so I'd better be ready to go. Grandpa snags my sleeve as grandma rolls him by a couple minutes later, and looks up at me with watering eyes. He knows me, he loves me, he wants me to come see them at the ranch sometime.
"Anytime," grandma says. No mention is made of my boyfriend. But today is not about me.
******
My dad asks about my boyfriend M. His interest seems unforced. Makes sure I tell him "hi." Mom does the same. I have a good conversation with him about why he can't stand onions. It was hard to tell at first, but I think things are getting better now that I'm not hiding the truth about myself.
******
Cousin K is very quiet on the ride home, it has been a long day for all of us. I am very grateful for the relative silence. We stop at a Mcdonalds in a gas station int he middle of nowhere. There is a guy watching a video on the free wi-fi in the lobby. He must drive trucks. I don't understand why he'd stop and waste time in middle of a journey otherwise.
I arrive home to noisy, demanding cats and a handsome boyfriend who has been waiting patiently. The cats would probably insist I switch those adjectives, but of course cats would. I don't know how many funerals my family expects me to attend without my own emotional support in tow, but I don't know how many more days like that I want to do solo either. I suspect bringing the man I love will cause a bigger stir than blue hair. I think I have the right to having a supportive partner nearby on a hard day as much as they do and it frustrates me that it would even be an issue. But it would. Or so I imagine.
I admit, I find it frustrating to find the line on what is right in dealing with my family, especially on days that are not about me.
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