Frogger

On Wednesday night I left Schenectady for Boston circa 8pm. This was the last leg of a last minute trip to west central Pennsylvania, for my great aunt Jeanne’s funeral.

When I heard about it my instinct was not to go. I can’t remember the last time I saw Aunt Jeanne but I remember her well. She was the youngest of five Walsh kids, my Nana was the eldest. I don’t remember ever meeting Aunt Jeanne’s kids–there are four, four of my mom’s 44 first cousins.

Nobody knew exactly what to do with their sorrow, and I wasn’t sure what to offer, except hugs, if they felt okay with them (rather than no touch, or handshake). I traveled there with my mom (#3 of 6 kids, eldest daughter) and my uncle (#1 of 6). It was nice to (over)hear their conversations and occassionally pipe up. I returned to rereading Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix which I had stopped rereading in late November. Something to make me feel good. On the way home, Mom turned on the dome light at dusk. “You sure?” I said.
Nodding, “It gives me great pleasure to see you reading for pleasure, Bri.”

Uncle Jerry, Aunt Jeanne’s husband, “held it together” for the most part. She’s had a pulmonary disease for a long time, apparently. Oxygen tanks. My mom’s cousin Tim (short for Tom, Jr.) is a friar and gave a great homily. It was the first I’ve been in church in about three years even though every time I see my mom she asks me to go. Lately I’ve been looking for that kind of ritual, supportive community, just not religious. Those church songs test my voice.

So many things people did, or were described, or accents, or lexicon all reminded me of my mom and her fam. Jerry talked about her criticizing him a lot and also about her being sweet as pie. “She never complained.” “She always waited to tell me something until I left the room.”

The alcohol was out but it seemed people were too aggrieved to drink their troubles away. Conversations would quickly switch from high school and military yearbooks (early 60s) to “I gotta tell you about Jeanne” or “She suffered terribly.”

I definitely felt middle america, listening to John Gorka’s “Houses in the Fields.” We passed housing development after development and began referring to them as “the beige.”

It was so good to see my extended family. Sure I got bored sometimes, didn’t know what to do because I wanted my mom and uncle to have alone time with their cousins, and wasn’t sure why I went because besides two of Jeanne’s grandchildren I was the only one of our generation there until the actual funeral. However, now that she’s died, of my grandparents and their siblings, of which they both had 4 (so 10 total), only 5 are left. Aunt Rosemary (#4) was there and played piano by memory…the last time I saw her and most of these cousins, was at her husband Jack’s funeral. Rosemary and Jack & Jeanne and Jerry had a double wedding. My mom was the flower girl at age two. Two of that wedding party remain. Five of the 10 of the siblings. Jeanne’s two older brothers couldn’t attend because of sickness, despite being only a handful of hours away.

What does all this mean? Where does grief go?

This entry was posted on Sunday, February 5th, 2006 at 3:03 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.