notyourmama2: red-haired woman with sheep (spelling bee)
[personal profile] notyourmama2
... and you wouldn't think that would be news, given that:

a) it's december
b) we hadn't spoken in 7 or so years, when I went home for my grandpa's funeral. It was the only time in nearly 20 years that I'd seen my family.

I found out in a fucked up way, randomly managing to get signal in my tent at festival, seeing a note from my cousin, the only one I'm in touch with on my fb, saying that grandma was ill, probably dying. The note was a few days old. So I ran up to gals, borrowed an AT&T phone from a friend (since they get signal on the land) and searched for her obituary. It came right up.

I lost my shit. That she'd died, and I hadn't known, that her funeral was that very day, only 120 or so miles from the land. I could have gone, and I was totally flattened with grief. I walked around for days asking my crew to respect the (totally real feeling) bubble around me, and fell out weeping on my lover's shoulder time and time again. I finally, and this is how very sad I was, succumbed to the woo and had acupuncture in hopes that anything could pull me out of the cycle of sad, and it worked. Huh.

You know, I'm mostly okay with not being in contact with family. It's at least 50% my choice, or at least was in the beginning, and now I don't know anymore if it's ill feelings, or habit, or choice, or happenstance. It just is. But Christmas is always hard. When I was a kid, Christmas Eve at grandma's was always the best part of the year, most of my happiest memories are tied up in it. Unadulterated good. And this year, not only was I not there, but there was never ever ever going to be the chance for that again. It's unfixable.

So I spent Christmas Eve and much of Christmas day crying, remembering, grieving. Once we're settled, I'm going to make her Christmas eve dinner, feed it to all my friends here. Grandma would approve (although god knows she wouldn't have approved of ANY of my friends...when I brought DC home for Christmas the first year, she called him Mary all night, due to his shoulder length hair). In my own way, I'm as reactionary as she was, and as good a cook. It's good to remember.
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