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.
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