Earlier this week, my siblings and I attended our grandmother’s memorial services. I have an older sister and a younger brother. This was our dad’s mother, and our dad passed away (thanks, bladder cancer) 24 years ago.
We haven’t been close with our dad’s side of the family since he passed. While our brother has had a relationship with most of the family, for my sister and I, it’s been nearly non-existent.
We’re all adults, and as such, we all take responsibility for the relationships we keep, and those we don’t. We’re not a hateful bunch, and we never have been. Adults make choices, adults sometimes grow apart, adults decide which relationships fuel them and which don’t.
Period.
Despite not having contact with our grandmother in years, attending the services was a no-brainer. We’re respectful people, and we knew without question, that our dad would want us there. Our grandfather (our dad’s father) passed away seven years ago and we attended his services as well.
The schedule was simple: visitation at the church, followed immediately by a full Catholic mass, followed immediately by short service at the cemetery. My sibs and I decided we’d attend together and my brother would drive.
Everyone was kind and gracious. Hugs and tears were shared and pleasantries exchanged. Everything seemed to be going off without a hitch.
Until…
We were at the cemetery, and services were completely over. Most of the people who had attended were still there, socializing for a few more minutes.
My sister and I were standing together chatting, when a distant relative came strolling up. She wedged herself between us, putting a hand on each of our shoulders and proceeded to say something so inappropriate, confrontational, and self-serving, that our mouths dropped.
Her exact words: “Let me ask you girls something – do you even have any good memories of her, at all?”
What in the actual fuck?
My sister and I stared at each other, dumbfounded, as my brother came walking up. I’m pretty sure we were trying to decide which one of us was going to go full Ruth Langmore on this twatwaffle, first.
Deep breath. Our parents raised us better than that. (no disrespect to Ruth, she’s a hero in my book)
I shook my head as the tears welled up, and asked her what would ever make her think, let alone, say that out loud. I didn’t actually care to hear her answer, it was just the most polite thing I could think to respond. And that’s when the verbal diarrhea began. I was only half listening to her, because I was trying to do the mental gymnastics it would take, for someone to behave so inappropriately. I kept turning away from her, but she just couldn’t stop herself from talking. At one point, she told us that our grandmother had a photo album by her bedside and that it included photos of us girls, as well. And she gave us a look that I could only guess was trying to inflict some kind of guilt.
And all I could think was “you are a stain on this day.”
Because if she was a person who truly cared, had an ounce of couth, and simply wanted to share what she thought she knew of our grandmother’s feelings, she would have said something along the lines of: “Hi girls. Gosh it’s been a long time, but it’s nice to see you. I know you may not have been close with her in recent years, but I just wanted you to know that she kept pictures of you close by and I know she cared for you.”
Period. The end.
But she didn’t.
And as much as we could just chalk it up to her being ignorant, or having a complete lack of social skills, I don’t think so. She thought she was entitled to our memories. It was an obvious case of self-righteous passive aggression.
We eventually got ourselves away from her and had nothing but pleasant conversation with every other person in attendance. Most of them much closer in relation.
Everyone left the cemetery at the same time, and as we got into my brother’s truck, my sibs and I decided it was best to leave that cemetery and head to the one where our dad is buried.
Two cemeteries in one day! Do we know how to have a good time or what?
We spent a little time reminiscing, by our dad’s grave, and snarked about the gaudy new headstone next to his. Mostly I think we just wanted to share some time, being thankful that even with the short 22, 20, and 16 years (respectively) that we had with him, he (and our mom) instilled better values than his relative has developed in nearly 70 years.
The rest of our day was pretty fantastic. A little sibling bonding, some time with our mom, and a fun dinner with most of our crew.
By the end of the day, I’d made peace with the situation knowing that should anyone even think about pulling some stunt like that when I’m gone, so help me, I will haunt them for the rest of eternity.
And I spent the seven hour drive home (the next morning) writing cemetery haiku. Most of which is entirely inappropriate, but I did write one clean enough to share. Featuring a quote from my grandmother. Entirely apropos.
confrontational
self-righteous and unaware
look at that hog’s balls