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cosmolinguistI remember talking to my grandpa many Christmases ago. His dementia seemed, for better or worse, to make it easier for him to say what other people wouldn't. It might have been what got him to tell me "I really miss Chris" when no one else in the family says so. It really stands out on my mind.
My grandpa died seven years after my brother. It's now been another seven years without either of them.
This Christmas my grandma talked a lot about them both. I see now that she did the same thing last year, only this time instead of telling a story about actual sleigh rides, she told me one about how my grandpa smoked a pipe until one day, on his way home from work, it froze up and he flung it away and that was it for him smoking a pipe (he still smoked cigars, but never a pipe again).
It was hard sometimes, but good.
I wonder if anything happens now that we'll tell stories about in future Christmases.
This'll be the one where my mom and I actually went to church in the middle of Christmas Eve dinner preparations -- something that usually only the men do in this gendered hellscape -- because it was the last service done by the pastor who's been there for 25 years. In his moist-eyed goodbye, he said "I married a lot of you..." and Andrew and I are one of those couples he married in that church. He also helped out at my brother's funeral, which had to be in the Catholic church but the usual priest was on vacation and the one who was substituting let this pastor from another denomination help out in the service, which my parents agreed the usual priest never would've allowed. It meant a lot to us as otherwise the funeral would've been done entirely by someone who was a stranger to my family. Whereas the pastor at my mom's church both had known my mom well (she helps out at church a lot) and he knew Chris as his daughter had dated Chris on and off for years. I don't have good memories of the funeral (I don't mean good in content, I mean good in quality; my brain wasn't making them then, or for six or twelve months after) but it came back to me now and my eyes were wet too.
My grandpa died seven years after my brother. It's now been another seven years without either of them.
This Christmas my grandma talked a lot about them both. I see now that she did the same thing last year, only this time instead of telling a story about actual sleigh rides, she told me one about how my grandpa smoked a pipe until one day, on his way home from work, it froze up and he flung it away and that was it for him smoking a pipe (he still smoked cigars, but never a pipe again).
It was hard sometimes, but good.
I wonder if anything happens now that we'll tell stories about in future Christmases.
This'll be the one where my mom and I actually went to church in the middle of Christmas Eve dinner preparations -- something that usually only the men do in this gendered hellscape -- because it was the last service done by the pastor who's been there for 25 years. In his moist-eyed goodbye, he said "I married a lot of you..." and Andrew and I are one of those couples he married in that church. He also helped out at my brother's funeral, which had to be in the Catholic church but the usual priest was on vacation and the one who was substituting let this pastor from another denomination help out in the service, which my parents agreed the usual priest never would've allowed. It meant a lot to us as otherwise the funeral would've been done entirely by someone who was a stranger to my family. Whereas the pastor at my mom's church both had known my mom well (she helps out at church a lot) and he knew Chris as his daughter had dated Chris on and off for years. I don't have good memories of the funeral (I don't mean good in content, I mean good in quality; my brain wasn't making them then, or for six or twelve months after) but it came back to me now and my eyes were wet too.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-12-26 02:36 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2019-12-27 01:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2019-12-26 11:57 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2019-12-27 01:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2019-12-26 01:52 pm (UTC)I think sometimes when you're old, you say the unsayable stuff cos you're past giving a shit. Dementia does help that though. My family got to hear about stuff from my Gran's past when her Alzheimer's kicked in...
I hope there will be other stories for xmases to tell stories about that will be heartfelt and important too.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-12-27 01:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2019-12-26 07:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2019-12-27 01:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2019-12-26 07:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2019-12-27 01:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2019-12-26 09:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2019-12-27 01:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2019-12-27 08:47 pm (UTC)I'd suggest not reading this when you're in an easily-upsettable state, but I *would* suggest reading it at some point, because she makes a lot of points about stuff you talk about (and that I see hurt you every year) but in a more methodical, analytical, style that might help you point at things.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-12-28 06:01 am (UTC)Since we said we'd be there for every Christmas, no question, that means we can't set good boundaries and they can do whatever they want. Which they do.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-12-28 12:43 pm (UTC)And that infantilisation thing is one reason why I hope that one day (in the *very* distant future) we can get them to come over here for Xmas rather than us going over there. I think it would fix a chunk of that. But obviously we don't want that for a long time yet.