Tomorrow is the funeral. I was supposed to get on a plane yesterday and fly to Philadelphia, meet my mom, and drive to Delaware to bury Ammy. I canceled after talking to my mom and letting her know that I couldn't go through with it. "It's going to be closed casket*" she said, as though that would help. "I'll still know it's her in there" I responded.
There are multiple reasons why I chose not to go. One of them is that I really didn't want to watch a box that contained Ammy be carted out and placed in a hole where she'd be buried. I don't have a problem with funerals or anything - I mean no, I don't like them but they don't creep me out like hospitals or horses - but I always feel uncomfortable and like I'm not in the moment and so am being rude or disrespectful. I also don't really like to grieve in front of too many people or weep too much. My very sweet neighbor took care of me the day it happened. Tits and Golden Rod talked to me on the phone. Hunter was very kind. Everyone was very kind. But I don't want to prolong the grieving and draw it out like some martyr. I also don't want to make this such a big deal that this is what I remember about Ammy. One of my strongest memories about her husband is the sandy colored linen suit I wore to the viewing. My cousin making fun of the food and saying something akin to "well, now I know never to come to the Hunter's Den again."
I don't want to remember the funeral. I don't want to remember the parts after she died. I want to remember the last time I saw her, how happy she was to tell Teacher that she was on Facebook because I took a picture of her and posted it. I want to remember when we went to Disney World years ago, when my cousin was about seven, and Ammy was willing to push her around in the wheel chair we'd gotten for her old lady behind. I want to remember all the wonderful things about her while she was alive.
And yeah, OK, I also just flat out didn't want to go. I didn't want to get on a plane again, I didn't want to board the pig again, I didn't want to come home to a filthy apartment again. If I'd gone, I would have had to leave work at 2PM, stop at a grocery store for veggies, rush home, throw clothes into a suitcase, grab the pig, go to the vet, and then drive to the airport. I would have been cranky the entire time and not of any help to my mother. I felt sick with anxiety until I canceled my plans.
Yes, I feel guilty for not being there to support my mother but she will have others and sometimes I really just need to do what is best for me. If I had gone, I would not have been allowed to grieve appropriately for me and I would have walked away annoyed and resentful. I would have been filled with anger. I probably would have said really inappropriate and impulsive things to people. Not because I'm horrible but because I can't always do well under stress.
Some people think I should have gone to be there for my mother. Others think I should have gone so as not to regret NOT going. Well, I need to support myself and I know I won't regret it. I said my goodbye and, actually, I saw her grave years ago. When I was in Delaware by myself, after mom moved to Arizona, I visited my grandfather and then, very disturbingly, saw a grave with Ammy's name on it. I broke down and wept because I wasn't expecting to see that. Sure, she'd just bought a plot but still, a bit creepy when you aren't expecting it. So I got that shock out of the way about six or seven years ago and I've said goodbye in person and I've wept. Now all I want is to take the day tomorrow, the day of her funeral, and, in my own way, mourn and remember my beloved grandmother.
Anyone and everyone can and will think what they want. But my not attending this funeral does not make me a bad person, it just makes me a very flawed one; which is to say, it makes me human.
*Almost forgot the footnote about the closed casket. Yesterday, whilst talking to someone, they asked if it would be a closed casket. Here is how the conversation went. Her: "Is it going to be an open casket?" Me: "I assume so. I mean, she didn't die fighting a dragon, she died in bed, so why a closed casket?" That is what came across my mind, "she didn't die fighting a dragon." Not "she didn't die in an accident" or "she didn't die of a disfiguring disease." No, "she didn't die fighting a dragon." What the fuck is wrong with me?"
There are multiple reasons why I chose not to go. One of them is that I really didn't want to watch a box that contained Ammy be carted out and placed in a hole where she'd be buried. I don't have a problem with funerals or anything - I mean no, I don't like them but they don't creep me out like hospitals or horses - but I always feel uncomfortable and like I'm not in the moment and so am being rude or disrespectful. I also don't really like to grieve in front of too many people or weep too much. My very sweet neighbor took care of me the day it happened. Tits and Golden Rod talked to me on the phone. Hunter was very kind. Everyone was very kind. But I don't want to prolong the grieving and draw it out like some martyr. I also don't want to make this such a big deal that this is what I remember about Ammy. One of my strongest memories about her husband is the sandy colored linen suit I wore to the viewing. My cousin making fun of the food and saying something akin to "well, now I know never to come to the Hunter's Den again."
I don't want to remember the funeral. I don't want to remember the parts after she died. I want to remember the last time I saw her, how happy she was to tell Teacher that she was on Facebook because I took a picture of her and posted it. I want to remember when we went to Disney World years ago, when my cousin was about seven, and Ammy was willing to push her around in the wheel chair we'd gotten for her old lady behind. I want to remember all the wonderful things about her while she was alive.
And yeah, OK, I also just flat out didn't want to go. I didn't want to get on a plane again, I didn't want to board the pig again, I didn't want to come home to a filthy apartment again. If I'd gone, I would have had to leave work at 2PM, stop at a grocery store for veggies, rush home, throw clothes into a suitcase, grab the pig, go to the vet, and then drive to the airport. I would have been cranky the entire time and not of any help to my mother. I felt sick with anxiety until I canceled my plans.
Yes, I feel guilty for not being there to support my mother but she will have others and sometimes I really just need to do what is best for me. If I had gone, I would not have been allowed to grieve appropriately for me and I would have walked away annoyed and resentful. I would have been filled with anger. I probably would have said really inappropriate and impulsive things to people. Not because I'm horrible but because I can't always do well under stress.
Some people think I should have gone to be there for my mother. Others think I should have gone so as not to regret NOT going. Well, I need to support myself and I know I won't regret it. I said my goodbye and, actually, I saw her grave years ago. When I was in Delaware by myself, after mom moved to Arizona, I visited my grandfather and then, very disturbingly, saw a grave with Ammy's name on it. I broke down and wept because I wasn't expecting to see that. Sure, she'd just bought a plot but still, a bit creepy when you aren't expecting it. So I got that shock out of the way about six or seven years ago and I've said goodbye in person and I've wept. Now all I want is to take the day tomorrow, the day of her funeral, and, in my own way, mourn and remember my beloved grandmother.
Anyone and everyone can and will think what they want. But my not attending this funeral does not make me a bad person, it just makes me a very flawed one; which is to say, it makes me human.
*Almost forgot the footnote about the closed casket. Yesterday, whilst talking to someone, they asked if it would be a closed casket. Here is how the conversation went. Her: "Is it going to be an open casket?" Me: "I assume so. I mean, she didn't die fighting a dragon, she died in bed, so why a closed casket?" That is what came across my mind, "she didn't die fighting a dragon." Not "she didn't die in an accident" or "she didn't die of a disfiguring disease." No, "she didn't die fighting a dragon." What the fuck is wrong with me?"
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