death is not the end.
there has been much peripheral death around me this year. an unsettling amount. my grandfather died in december. since then, betsy's grandmother, her ex-husbands grandmother, a co-worker's father, a co-worker's mother, a friend's father, two of my regulars at the coffee shop, and another in hospice, close to the end, and one of my best friends just lost his father, after losing his last grandparent not long before.
this is the way it goes. we are none of us here for long. i didn't realize how much it was weighing on me until a passage in the book Shantaram just broke my fucking heart. it summed up all of this loss, all the grieving i have been avoiding. even now, it is insulated again. i can feel it all behind a wall, wanting out. but i don't know how to let it out any more. we must persevere, endure.
my grandmother rose is doing well again. she is in an assisted living apartment, and seems to like it. she even emails now, with help from my mother. but we, as a family have begun clearing out her house. she was a bit of a hoarder (lived on her own at 13 during the deprssion- go figure), so initially it was a lot of excess things to be donated, disposed of. but now its down to the pieces of her life.. her records, her kitchen things, decorations. it isnt being done quickly, or dispassionately, but this is huge for me. it is the last intact place from my childhood. these are the last few rooms full of memories, and moments in time, that i have access to. soon they will be gone, like all the others.
i find this profoundly sad. my life is distinctly divided between "before prison" and "after prison". there aren't a lot of happy memories of before left for me. this is one of the only ones. and it is now on the disposal pile, ready to be cannibalized and distributed and gotten rid of.
we had thanksgiving at my grandmothers house last year, the first time since the mid 80s. it wasn't a huge family event, just 3 of us, but it was so good to be there again, even knowing it was for the last time. at least we got that.
anyway, here's a sad song.
this is the way it goes. we are none of us here for long. i didn't realize how much it was weighing on me until a passage in the book Shantaram just broke my fucking heart. it summed up all of this loss, all the grieving i have been avoiding. even now, it is insulated again. i can feel it all behind a wall, wanting out. but i don't know how to let it out any more. we must persevere, endure.
my grandmother rose is doing well again. she is in an assisted living apartment, and seems to like it. she even emails now, with help from my mother. but we, as a family have begun clearing out her house. she was a bit of a hoarder (lived on her own at 13 during the deprssion- go figure), so initially it was a lot of excess things to be donated, disposed of. but now its down to the pieces of her life.. her records, her kitchen things, decorations. it isnt being done quickly, or dispassionately, but this is huge for me. it is the last intact place from my childhood. these are the last few rooms full of memories, and moments in time, that i have access to. soon they will be gone, like all the others.
i find this profoundly sad. my life is distinctly divided between "before prison" and "after prison". there aren't a lot of happy memories of before left for me. this is one of the only ones. and it is now on the disposal pile, ready to be cannibalized and distributed and gotten rid of.
we had thanksgiving at my grandmothers house last year, the first time since the mid 80s. it wasn't a huge family event, just 3 of us, but it was so good to be there again, even knowing it was for the last time. at least we got that.
anyway, here's a sad song.