Broken Ice Still Melts In The Sun, And Times That Are Broken Can Often Be One Again, We're Soul Alone, And Soul Really Matters To Me
--'Out of Touch", Hall and Oates
My grandmother died on Tuesday.
And where was I? I was off at a St. Patrick's Day board game meeting. It's true that I had my phone off and that's mostly the reason I didn't rush right over to the hospital to see her as she lay sick and dying. And it's true that I felt awful after I heard when I got home. But, contemplating it now, I don't know if receiving a call of that nature would have been enough to pry me away from the good time I was having with my friends. I would have been just one more body waiting outside the hospital room. I would have been just another numb face, too dumbstruck to add anything constructive to the conversation. And I would have been thinking the entire time what I had given up to be absolutely bored out of my skull. Truth be told, I probably would have stayed put no matter how many messages I received from concerned family members. I would have stayed and regretted it probably, but I still would have made out better than if I had gone.
It's not that I didn't love my grandmother. I did. I just didn't know her. I loved her in the sense that you're supposed to love your family, but not in any tangible way. I couldn't speak to her because she spoke a completely different language than I spoke. I never visited her unless I was forced to be my parents when I was younger. I never even got to know her or anything about her. In almost every sense of the word she was a complete stranger to me because, even now, I don't feel anything but the most tenuous of attachments to her. I think I will miss her about as I missed my old classmates from St. Rita's that I never got to know because we had basically the same type of relationship; she was someone I would say hello to if I saw them but had no interest in anything more prolonged than that.
It just goes to reaffirm my theory when it comes to friends and family. The simple fact you get to choose your friends will always trump being lumped in with the collection of acquaintances that comprises your family. I feel no mystical bond with my extended family just because we share the same DNA nor do I feel like I owe any of them, outside of the cousins I'm close to and my immediate family, any sort of allegiance or sympathy. I don't think they've earned any special treatment, not like the friends I'm close to, who, through the years, have done more to earn my trust and loyalty. I can't tell you how many times I was made to feel guilty that I chose friendship over family, and how often I've seen for myself that I possess friends more willing to actually build a bond than members of my family who continue to assume the bond is there. I don't know--I guess I'm not the family type. I've never felt all warm and fuzzy when I think of how close-knit or not my family is. Sometimes, honestly, family is a dirty word.
To put it into perspective, when my friend Jennifer died, you couldn't pry me away from visiting her in the hospital in those last few months. You couldn't stop me writing a six page eulogy about her either. That's how important I felt she was to me.
My grandmother's funeral is next Saturday and I'm about 50/50 about attending because, yet again, there is another board game meeting scheduled for that day. I just don't know if I want to forego something that makes me happy and being surrounded by people I actually appreciate for being surrounded by the doom and gloom with others who've never taken the time to get to know me.
My grandmother will be missed, but not as much as they all hope I will.
Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers
My grandmother died on Tuesday.And where was I? I was off at a St. Patrick's Day board game meeting. It's true that I had my phone off and that's mostly the reason I didn't rush right over to the hospital to see her as she lay sick and dying. And it's true that I felt awful after I heard when I got home. But, contemplating it now, I don't know if receiving a call of that nature would have been enough to pry me away from the good time I was having with my friends. I would have been just one more body waiting outside the hospital room. I would have been just another numb face, too dumbstruck to add anything constructive to the conversation. And I would have been thinking the entire time what I had given up to be absolutely bored out of my skull. Truth be told, I probably would have stayed put no matter how many messages I received from concerned family members. I would have stayed and regretted it probably, but I still would have made out better than if I had gone.
It's not that I didn't love my grandmother. I did. I just didn't know her. I loved her in the sense that you're supposed to love your family, but not in any tangible way. I couldn't speak to her because she spoke a completely different language than I spoke. I never visited her unless I was forced to be my parents when I was younger. I never even got to know her or anything about her. In almost every sense of the word she was a complete stranger to me because, even now, I don't feel anything but the most tenuous of attachments to her. I think I will miss her about as I missed my old classmates from St. Rita's that I never got to know because we had basically the same type of relationship; she was someone I would say hello to if I saw them but had no interest in anything more prolonged than that.
It just goes to reaffirm my theory when it comes to friends and family. The simple fact you get to choose your friends will always trump being lumped in with the collection of acquaintances that comprises your family. I feel no mystical bond with my extended family just because we share the same DNA nor do I feel like I owe any of them, outside of the cousins I'm close to and my immediate family, any sort of allegiance or sympathy. I don't think they've earned any special treatment, not like the friends I'm close to, who, through the years, have done more to earn my trust and loyalty. I can't tell you how many times I was made to feel guilty that I chose friendship over family, and how often I've seen for myself that I possess friends more willing to actually build a bond than members of my family who continue to assume the bond is there. I don't know--I guess I'm not the family type. I've never felt all warm and fuzzy when I think of how close-knit or not my family is. Sometimes, honestly, family is a dirty word.
To put it into perspective, when my friend Jennifer died, you couldn't pry me away from visiting her in the hospital in those last few months. You couldn't stop me writing a six page eulogy about her either. That's how important I felt she was to me.
My grandmother's funeral is next Saturday and I'm about 50/50 about attending because, yet again, there is another board game meeting scheduled for that day. I just don't know if I want to forego something that makes me happy and being surrounded by people I actually appreciate for being surrounded by the doom and gloom with others who've never taken the time to get to know me.
My grandmother will be missed, but not as much as they all hope I will.
Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers
Labels: connection, death, family, friends, Hall and Oates
posted by mojo shivers @ 6:44 PM
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