In the Wake of the Final Hour
William "Bill" Blaine, 77, Little Falls, died June 4. Services: 10:30 a.m. June 9, St. Mary's Catholic Church, Little Falls. Emblom-Brenny Funeral Service (East Chapel), Little Falls.
Uncle Bill's Obituary (with picture)
The wake was... awkward, considering it being my first and all. Rita's looking pretty good, all things considered. It was open casket and hard to stomach. Embalmed corpses always look so creepy. Like wax. I should really learn to stomach it for my future occupation of choice. He didn't look peaceful either, it wasnt this common preconceived notion of going "peacefully" and looking happy, etc. He'd lost weight - a lot, mind you, nothing like his obituary pic - you could see the pain in his face. His death - at 77 years old - was anything but peaceful so he wouldn't look happy, no matter how they staged the body. He had his rosary positioned in his hands - like his faith could've saved him. Yeah, I'm a cynic with no faith in a higher power and contempt for organized religion Catholicism anyone? so sue me. It just seemed so futile. But Bill was a man of faith, so it fits.
I couldn't help but wonder with morbid fascination what it was like to prepare a dead body, to be a mortician. And why you'd choose that line of work. You don't just wake up one morning and go "I wanna look at dead bodies all day!" Where do you get the stomach for that?
Poor grandpa. He looks like he aged 10 years since I've last seen him (at Easter). He's taking it so hard. The infamous "Blaine guilt complex" (and the need for self-punishment) so that's where I get it is kicking in and grandpa needs to keep insanely busy so he doesn't lose his damn mind. He and Bill were feuding over division of family land up until the stroke in late April that left his right side completely paralyzed and destroyed his motor functions. You could say the stroke is what killed him. After the stroke he stopped eating/drinking - he would never recover and he would essentially spend the rest of his life as a half-vegetable. He decided he wasn't gonna live like that so he gave in and decided to die. My brain immediately leapt to whether or not it counts as suicide. Grandpa flipped out. Slamming his hands on the table, screaming "you can't do this", etc.
Grandpa spends his days working tirelessly through the pain in his shoulder in a state of numb self-deprication. He blames himself for Bill's death. The guilt is slowly killing him and it's so hard to watch. I've heard that deep depression and pent-up guilt can shorten your lifespan because it affects your immune system too. He'll be 80 in August and I know he won't have too much time left. I don't wanna lose him. He's the only grandpa I've known and had Kate's grandpa aside, may he rest in peace and he's a hard-ass that everyone thinks is a jerk and is scared of, but not me. He's my only grandpa. Mom's dad abandoned her when she was little. Last summer we talked for over an hour at Devon's graduation party. He never does that with his own kids, let alone us. But he did with me. That has to mean something, right?
I love my grandpa dearly and seeing him like this - so damn fragile and broken - kills me inside. He's the buffer between me and grandma in my eyes, in that she drives us both up the wall. With him I can be a snarky bitch and there's no criticism. I just think I'm the only grandchild that understands him. And can't stand grandma.
Tomorrow's the depressing storm of death funeral, and if I watch grandpa break I don't think I can handle it...
Dinner with Joe at 7 tomorrow night. The only thing I'm looking forward to tomorrow and the only reason I want to get up tomorrow morning.
[I’m feeling|
A little scared ]
[Current Addiction:| When You Love Someone ~ Bryan Adams ]
Uncle Bill's Obituary (with picture)
The wake was... awkward, considering it being my first and all. Rita's looking pretty good, all things considered. It was open casket and hard to stomach. Embalmed corpses always look so creepy. Like wax. I should really learn to stomach it for my future occupation of choice. He didn't look peaceful either, it wasnt this common preconceived notion of going "peacefully" and looking happy, etc. He'd lost weight - a lot, mind you, nothing like his obituary pic - you could see the pain in his face. His death - at 77 years old - was anything but peaceful so he wouldn't look happy, no matter how they staged the body. He had his rosary positioned in his hands - like his faith could've saved him. Yeah, I'm a cynic with no faith in a higher power and contempt for organized religion Catholicism anyone? so sue me. It just seemed so futile. But Bill was a man of faith, so it fits.
I couldn't help but wonder with morbid fascination what it was like to prepare a dead body, to be a mortician. And why you'd choose that line of work. You don't just wake up one morning and go "I wanna look at dead bodies all day!" Where do you get the stomach for that?
Poor grandpa. He looks like he aged 10 years since I've last seen him (at Easter). He's taking it so hard. The infamous "Blaine guilt complex" (and the need for self-punishment) so that's where I get it is kicking in and grandpa needs to keep insanely busy so he doesn't lose his damn mind. He and Bill were feuding over division of family land up until the stroke in late April that left his right side completely paralyzed and destroyed his motor functions. You could say the stroke is what killed him. After the stroke he stopped eating/drinking - he would never recover and he would essentially spend the rest of his life as a half-vegetable. He decided he wasn't gonna live like that so he gave in and decided to die. My brain immediately leapt to whether or not it counts as suicide. Grandpa flipped out. Slamming his hands on the table, screaming "you can't do this", etc.
Grandpa spends his days working tirelessly through the pain in his shoulder in a state of numb self-deprication. He blames himself for Bill's death. The guilt is slowly killing him and it's so hard to watch. I've heard that deep depression and pent-up guilt can shorten your lifespan because it affects your immune system too. He'll be 80 in August and I know he won't have too much time left. I don't wanna lose him. He's the only grandpa I've known and had Kate's grandpa aside, may he rest in peace and he's a hard-ass that everyone thinks is a jerk and is scared of, but not me. He's my only grandpa. Mom's dad abandoned her when she was little. Last summer we talked for over an hour at Devon's graduation party. He never does that with his own kids, let alone us. But he did with me. That has to mean something, right?
I love my grandpa dearly and seeing him like this - so damn fragile and broken - kills me inside. He's the buffer between me and grandma in my eyes, in that she drives us both up the wall. With him I can be a snarky bitch and there's no criticism. I just think I'm the only grandchild that understands him. And can't stand grandma.
Tomorrow's the depressing storm of death funeral, and if I watch grandpa break I don't think I can handle it...
Dinner with Joe at 7 tomorrow night. The only thing I'm looking forward to tomorrow and the only reason I want to get up tomorrow morning.
[I’m feeling|
A little scared ]
[Current Addiction:| When You Love Someone ~ Bryan Adams ]