08: Real and ethereal

So I don't think I need much explanation, if you've been following recently, why I am writing this blog from North Bay, after just being here last weekend.

Dad came home early on Saturday to tell me Grandad had passed. When B. got home Sunday evening I told him as immediately as I could. From there, the logistical mess of getting all of our funeral attire prepared and gathered. I bought a new shirt and tie, which I was intending to get anyway for Manda's wedding. We had just been talking about it Saturday morning.

We came up late Monday, after picking Eric up at school. Because of short notice, and because the person who had rented it didn't return it on time, dad couldn't get a rental van. So we all jammed in the back of the Nissan, all our biggest fears. At least dad saved the money. Which is nice, when bereaved. Anyway, we drove up in the dark and rain with hits of the 60's playing. Something far too proasic about hearing "Tracks of my Tears" or "Crying in the Rain" (or most especially, "Leader of the Pack") when you're driving to a funeral in the rain. Hrm.

I've spoken and thought a lot about the matter lately, to anyone who would listen. It was both sudden and rather expected. A relief, in a way, because I no longer have to spend a long time wondering when it's going to happen, and because the last time I saw him was a very pleasant memory now forever etched in my mind.

The funeral was this morning. It was a typical affair, a chilly, well-furnished room with flowers and photos of him at various stages of his life. Nothing from his childhood (I don't imagine photocameras were a common household item in Northern England in the 1930's) but from his early days with Grandma, a lot of stuff with my cousins, my brothers and me, (although because of geography, more with the cousins,) and from their many travels. Open casket. Coffee and random candy dishes (I was easily the youngest person there.) Charming my cousin's boyfriend's parents, when given the opportunity (yeah, I don't get how I can do that either.) This lasted from about 1 to about 3.

Then at 3, when every non-relative had gone, we did the service. It was... a funeral. The minister read First Corinthians, which is usually reserved for weddings, explaining how he believed it tied into the theme of being with God. I'd rather he had read Psalm 23 but whatevs. We're not a very religious family and you could tell the awkward hesitation whenever it was time for us to say amen. But I guess the funeral home insists you go through the religious ceremonies or else ethey won't take your money and bury you. Or something? Uncle Alan spoke. He also spoke and Grandma's funeral. I'll have to ask my dad why he didn't. I guess he's never been one for public speaking, I just would've thought they'd alternate. Given the opportunity, I'd have spoken. But perhaps it would've been inappropriate to show off how much deeper my thoughts on the matter than everyone else. I kid.

But speaking of "inappropriate." I used that word a lot lately. A lot of concern for what was appropriate behaviour, appropriate attire, under what circumstances my brothers and I behave ourselves and care how we are perceived. A sense of double-consciousness. But if I tried to write a paper on it, I'd probably get bitchslapped.

Crap. Exams all too soon.

So, tomorrow we'll be putting his ashes to rest. They've also got some business with a lawyer, so hopefully they can get that done in short order (they hope, but let's be realistic, how quickly does this stuff ever work out?) And then home.

Thursday I gots to study, then go down to Hamilton and meet the Half-Past crew. Pretty psyched about that.

I thought I'd have more to say, but.... I' don't.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott