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Yesterday I drove with my grandparents to my great-aunt's burial. It was...more enjoyable than you might think.
Is it normal for a family to be this hug-happy? Entering a family gathering requires that you hug everyone you already know, and leaving requires you hug not only everyone you know, but everyone you've met since you arrived. But. Hugs.
My uncle gave the internment service. I cried. Let's not talk about that bit.
Then the family went for dinner to this restaurant at Republic Airport that's all tricked out like a WWII Air Force bunker. It's the shiniest. (It's called "The 56th Fighter Group", if you're intrigued.) We all ate and talked and looked at pictures and played life-event-catch-up. This is much less painfully boring now that I'm old enough to actually participate.
I and my grandparents stayed at my cousin's apartment in Brooklyn. She has a dog, who is exceptionally friendly and managed to get white hairs all over my black coat without, as far as I can recall, ever actually touching it.
Then today we attended Mass at her church (There was no singing. This doesn't count as real religion.), and then went to a big lunch with a bunch of her friends and, yes, more relatives. It was fun hearing family stories from days of yore and reminiscences about what, to me, is capital-H History.
The saddest thing about people dying is that the past becomes more unreal with every person who no longer remembers it. There are so many stories Great-Aunt Peg could've told, that I'll never hear.
Hey, guys? I love y'all.
Is it normal for a family to be this hug-happy? Entering a family gathering requires that you hug everyone you already know, and leaving requires you hug not only everyone you know, but everyone you've met since you arrived. But. Hugs.
My uncle gave the internment service. I cried. Let's not talk about that bit.
Then the family went for dinner to this restaurant at Republic Airport that's all tricked out like a WWII Air Force bunker. It's the shiniest. (It's called "The 56th Fighter Group", if you're intrigued.) We all ate and talked and looked at pictures and played life-event-catch-up. This is much less painfully boring now that I'm old enough to actually participate.
I and my grandparents stayed at my cousin's apartment in Brooklyn. She has a dog, who is exceptionally friendly and managed to get white hairs all over my black coat without, as far as I can recall, ever actually touching it.
Then today we attended Mass at her church (There was no singing. This doesn't count as real religion.), and then went to a big lunch with a bunch of her friends and, yes, more relatives. It was fun hearing family stories from days of yore and reminiscences about what, to me, is capital-H History.
The saddest thing about people dying is that the past becomes more unreal with every person who no longer remembers it. There are so many stories Great-Aunt Peg could've told, that I'll never hear.
Hey, guys? I love y'all.