The Poet Has Left The Building
Going home in a couple hours. Got some books, got everything packed, this morning was another non-Vegan breakfast. I finished One Hundred Years of Solitude last night, got started on The Picture of Dorian Gray, and I finished Tales of a Punk Rock Nothing earlier in the week.
My uncle died yesterday morning. I'm still trying to figure out exactly how I feel, but I do know that the important thing is that he was in a lot of pain, having trouble breathing, and essentially suffering, and now that suffering is over. There's no more pain for him. I can't really say anything else about how he's in a better place or anything, because I still have trouble believing in it even though I know I want to. My spirituality is something that I'm reclaiming through a very long and very slow process.
The funeral's on Wednesday, calling hours are tomorrow. I have no idea where my better clothes are to wear to the funeral. I don't know how this is going to affect the dynamic in the family. This is sort of the point where it's my job to step back, and let everything happen, because him and I weren't really that close in recent years. The clearest memories I have are of the blowout Christmas parties and summers where my sister and I would hang out at his house all day because he had a Colecovision. I remember a trip he took down to the Amish country that I went along with, and reading most of the Chronicles of Narnia during the trip and listening to the song "Amazing" by Aerosmith over and over again and mentioning I had a friend named Andrea back home that he immediately started referring to as "Cleopatra" in a constant and almost mocking sort of fashion.
To be honest I think that's where him and I grew apart.
I remember being in a store and seeing a stuffed lion plush and wanting to get it primarily because I'd been reading the Chronicles of Narnia and I was on a lion kick, honestly. He'd said he was going to give me a little money so I could buy myself something, and the price of the lion was within that price. I asked for it, saying it was what I wanted, and he refused, saying I only wanted it for "Cleopatra". I told him it wasn't for her, but for me, and he told me I was just lying to him, and the second I got home, I'd probably give everything I'd picked up on that trip to "Cleopatra" (he had a *very* mocking tone whenever he said that name. I STILL have no idea why he called her that), and he wasn't there to buy presents for her. I remember walking across the parking lot of the small strip mall we had been at, with him still occassionally spouting "Cleo-paaaaa-traaaaaaaa" and suddenly thinking, "What an asshole."
I know I'm breaking all sorts of social rules right now. He died, and I'm going into detail into what's a negative memory of him. You're not supposed to do that. I should be talking about one of those great Christmas parties or the fact that you could find almost band on CD or vinyl somewhere in his collection, or that we'd both shared an interest in The Sims, but that's the memory that came up first, probably because I was asking myself the question right after I said, "him and I weren't all that close". The question was... why? Because he saw me as some lovesick kid who wanted to blow all his cash on his girlfriend? To be honest, Andrea really was just my friend, and I knew I was gay at that point. I threw out Andrea's name because I didn't want to face scrutiny for saying I didn't have a girlfriend yet. To be honest though, it was after that vacation, and that soaking of my brain in C.S. Lewis that I starting writing for three hours a day later that summer.
This isn't to say that I hated him. Far from it, really. It's just that... after that trip, I didn't really want to be around him anymore. Since then, I really never found a reason to forge another connection. I can't just go with, "Well, he's family, that should be enough." I don't love my mom because she's my mom. I love my mom because she raised two kids on her own after my Dad left us, because she is the writer that I get my talent from, because she is just as examining of any guy that I bring home as if I'd brought home a girl, because when I told her I wanted to be a writer, she supported me. I love my sister because she's a genius, because when the chips are down, she's got my back, because she'll call me on my bullshit with no fear. For me, family isn't just some ties of blood, its the strength of the connection that you have to the people in your lives. This is why Don and Ken and Will I think of more as my brothers than my friends, this is why despite everything that went on between Chris and I, I still feel closer and more connected to him than simply a friend.
Anyway, I need to finish final packing and cleaning in my dorm.
Peace.
My uncle died yesterday morning. I'm still trying to figure out exactly how I feel, but I do know that the important thing is that he was in a lot of pain, having trouble breathing, and essentially suffering, and now that suffering is over. There's no more pain for him. I can't really say anything else about how he's in a better place or anything, because I still have trouble believing in it even though I know I want to. My spirituality is something that I'm reclaiming through a very long and very slow process.
The funeral's on Wednesday, calling hours are tomorrow. I have no idea where my better clothes are to wear to the funeral. I don't know how this is going to affect the dynamic in the family. This is sort of the point where it's my job to step back, and let everything happen, because him and I weren't really that close in recent years. The clearest memories I have are of the blowout Christmas parties and summers where my sister and I would hang out at his house all day because he had a Colecovision. I remember a trip he took down to the Amish country that I went along with, and reading most of the Chronicles of Narnia during the trip and listening to the song "Amazing" by Aerosmith over and over again and mentioning I had a friend named Andrea back home that he immediately started referring to as "Cleopatra" in a constant and almost mocking sort of fashion.
To be honest I think that's where him and I grew apart.
I remember being in a store and seeing a stuffed lion plush and wanting to get it primarily because I'd been reading the Chronicles of Narnia and I was on a lion kick, honestly. He'd said he was going to give me a little money so I could buy myself something, and the price of the lion was within that price. I asked for it, saying it was what I wanted, and he refused, saying I only wanted it for "Cleopatra". I told him it wasn't for her, but for me, and he told me I was just lying to him, and the second I got home, I'd probably give everything I'd picked up on that trip to "Cleopatra" (he had a *very* mocking tone whenever he said that name. I STILL have no idea why he called her that), and he wasn't there to buy presents for her. I remember walking across the parking lot of the small strip mall we had been at, with him still occassionally spouting "Cleo-paaaaa-traaaaaaaa" and suddenly thinking, "What an asshole."
I know I'm breaking all sorts of social rules right now. He died, and I'm going into detail into what's a negative memory of him. You're not supposed to do that. I should be talking about one of those great Christmas parties or the fact that you could find almost band on CD or vinyl somewhere in his collection, or that we'd both shared an interest in The Sims, but that's the memory that came up first, probably because I was asking myself the question right after I said, "him and I weren't all that close". The question was... why? Because he saw me as some lovesick kid who wanted to blow all his cash on his girlfriend? To be honest, Andrea really was just my friend, and I knew I was gay at that point. I threw out Andrea's name because I didn't want to face scrutiny for saying I didn't have a girlfriend yet. To be honest though, it was after that vacation, and that soaking of my brain in C.S. Lewis that I starting writing for three hours a day later that summer.
This isn't to say that I hated him. Far from it, really. It's just that... after that trip, I didn't really want to be around him anymore. Since then, I really never found a reason to forge another connection. I can't just go with, "Well, he's family, that should be enough." I don't love my mom because she's my mom. I love my mom because she raised two kids on her own after my Dad left us, because she is the writer that I get my talent from, because she is just as examining of any guy that I bring home as if I'd brought home a girl, because when I told her I wanted to be a writer, she supported me. I love my sister because she's a genius, because when the chips are down, she's got my back, because she'll call me on my bullshit with no fear. For me, family isn't just some ties of blood, its the strength of the connection that you have to the people in your lives. This is why Don and Ken and Will I think of more as my brothers than my friends, this is why despite everything that went on between Chris and I, I still feel closer and more connected to him than simply a friend.
Anyway, I need to finish final packing and cleaning in my dorm.
Peace.