...sit right next to me! I think Alice Roosevelt Longfellow (was it?) said that, and I like that attitude. My maternal grandmother was of the "say nothing" school, and my-oh-my, did her daughter follow in her footsteps. I didn't hear any good dirt about my family until after both my mother and father were dead. For a year or more.
That's just crazy. But it does offer one upside to the awful grief I went through after my parents went on to the big Democratic Party meeting in the sky. (Or was it bridge club? Hopefully both!)
This has all come up because my partner Linda flew down to Florida this morning after learning just after midnight that her father was dead. I can't really say how I feel about this, except that I do know that Linda is in for an emotional rollercoaster the likes of which she hasn't been on in years, if ever. I feel for her, yes I do.
Me, I felt like someone had hit me in the head with a 2x4 after my dad died; didn't feel quite tethered to the planet for a solid year after his death. For even though my dad's dementia had turned him into someone who my "real" dad wouldn't have anything to do with (he wasn't a whiner or a manipulator when himself), I found his passing stunning. Stunning. Not in a good way.
To borrow my friend Jennifer's phrasing, it's The Mortality. When a parent dies, you feel it. There's one less barrier between you and the Grim Reaper. When both your parents die, you're next.
In other words: The death of a parent is God's way of saying, "In case you were wondering, mortality runs in your family, too."
Oh, yeah--in case you were wondering, I won't be going to the open mic tomorrow night.
Do you need to ask why?
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