I submitted my first Life Claim Discrepancy Recalculation today!!.....wait....what's happened to me?
All comic hysterics aside, I don't recognize my life any more. I get the feeling that the new job and the weirdness of summer could be handled on their own, but dealing with them together leaves me bewildered.
At one point today at work, I looked up in my cubicle, at my Excel spreadsheet, looked across the way at my coworkers, down at my papers, and it hit me. To quote Kerouac, "that was the one distinct moment of my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn't know who I was...really didn't know who I was for about fifteen seconds. I wasn't scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger." I first read that sitting on some patio at Georgetown and thought about how well it resounded with my life. Bullshit. Georgetown fits; it's clearly been the next step and despite a few moments, it's been easy to tell that it's the same ol' me truckin' along through life.
It's not like that at work. I feel completely different. It's not the insecurity or the ignorance of what I'm doing. It's just that I don't remember how I got there. Suddenly a huge chunk of my day is devoted to something I don't understand. I'm doing well. Like I said, I handled my first big responsibility, screwed my first beneficiary out of their loved one's life insurance money (It's not that bad, the person lied to the sales agent about their age to get a lower rate). My computer's up and running and I only got booted from the mainframe twice for messing up the password (Some Nick Burns clone was all snotty to me over the phone when he reset my clearance). Next week I'm doing some work for the CEO. TMy co-workers are all nice and helpful and understanding, mostly because they didn't have a clue when they first arrived either. Things are going well. They just don't feel like my things.
It's not just the time at work that makes me feel it either. Last night at Taste of Alpharetta, one of the reasons I had a good time was because I'd been at work all day and I appreciated the relaxation and doing what I wanted. I'm sure if we had more friends in the 9 to 5 working world, it'd be a lot of, "Wow, how profound, Ian." But it's crazy to feel this way, to cherish the time on one's own, to crave the weekends. I mean, I'm no Babbitt, but when did I become so damn corporate, polo shirts and network IDs, "have Bret check your work and then fax it over to claims," etc. When did this happen?
Sure, I can bitch all I want about a well-paying job. And yeah, I get to tweak with math and solve problems in Excel (I made a function where my co-workers always use guess and check, on the first day baby!). But I dunno, suddenly this idea of "teaching eventually, but doing something else first" is so damn REAL. I might be doing this for years, because I have no real reason not to. I have no problems witht he work, and I couldn't justify shafting a career because I don't feel right about it.
And this at the same time that it's slim pickins to hang with people. I'm sure I could make some calls and get some coffee with someone or Brusters or something, but when did that become how things work in the group? I guess we all feel weird as college students picking a house for the evening, being with friends that close to parents? What is it about that that makes it so different now? It doesn't even feel like summer.
I'd like to say "I don't know where it is that I came home to, because it's sure not Alpharetta," but that's not how it is. Alpharetta's here, Milton's here, it's all around, still the same. No, it's precisely the unchanging aspects of Alpharetta that reveal the true question in painful clarity: Who came home?
Because it sure doesn't feel like me...
Friday, May 21, 2004
Wednesday, May 19, 2004
How to Be Uncomfortable at Home in 9 Easy Months
So here we are, those of us that are already home in Alpharetta (and perhaps those of you elsewhere who may identify). Those still in school, relish it. I never thought I'd say that, but relish the freedom, relish the personal space.
The year sort of fizzled out for me in terms of feeling like the end of school. I wasn't around enough to see everyone freaking about finals, so I didn't feel like it was the big finals season. I really enjoyed my last days at Georgetown because I guess I didn't get too terrible upset about it. If 9 months of school flew by that quickly, I'm sure come August, I'll feel like we'd just said our goodbyes on the Hilltop.
What have I learned? Well, a lot of this year's effects are hard to describe, but some are easy. I, for all intents and purposes, stumbled onto a group of amazing people who are now a part of my daily and almost hourly life at Georgetown. I have people who I love talking to, be it fantastically stupid conversation, or long talks about the so-called important things in life. Sound familiar to anyone in Alpharetta? It should. Familiar but different. I learned early on that not only will the relationships with Milton kids stand the test of college, but they will become stronger. In addition, my Georgetown friends didn't replace the A Kids, but simply became a different part of my life.
Classes are a double-edged sword. The content can be incredibly good and I've learned bucketloads, but at what cost? We've lost the interactions, the personal feel of all of those AP classes, of Crockett's and Friedman's where the teachers didn't just know your name, but your writing style and your sense of humor. I had one class out of ten that came close to that environment, my English class Spring semester. It was a breath of fresh air. Sure, I've learned so much math I literally don't know what to do with it. Sure, I knew enough about Kantian ethics to talk with my friends about Kitty Genovese last night after trivia. But I still wish I knew more people in my classes. Maybe it's my fault. I can be very shy when in a new situation and walking into Friedman's class was walking into years of friendships, not a new situation.
Theater's been amazing. I've said to many people that, were I to draw analogies, my Harbin friends (and Moffet, my fellow refugee) are similar to the A Kids, while theater, ironically enough, is similar to the old Teen Group. I say this because it's varying ages of people who all get along as equals. Plus, I've gotten to dabble in the whole acting thing, which of course strokes my illusions of dramatic grandeur that we all know I have. I got to have a swordfight in period clothing. I got to be a father. And, in a huge acting stretch for me, I got to be a student who has a good point and then lost it....what was I saying? All in all, I'm happy to now be a member of Mask and Bauble Dramatic Society.
But sitting here, Mask and Bauble, my classes, everything Georgetown but the people seems for a moment dreamlike, as if I just woke up in last year's summer from the most vivid dream imaginable and I didn't actually do any of it. However, the moment I get up from this computer, I'll feel it again. That unrelenting feeling that I do not belong here anymore. Sure, I have a bed to sleep in, a sense of directions around the town, and friends to visit with, but I still feel like a stranger. It can be attributed to the fact that I haven't accepted that this summer will be fun in its own right and not in a continuation-of-last-summer way. That hit hard at trivia last night. New venue, new faces, bad sound, it was all new and, at times, I felt like I was in Bizarro-world Alpharetta.
And yet it was fun. I hope no one reads this and thinks, wow, Ian hates being home. No, I'm uncomfortable being home, something I recognize as temporary. We had fun at trivia, as well as in the conversation afterwards outside of the insurance office. Things will be fun this summer, if a bit reigned in by the re-emergence of parents. Soon there will be a grind of work all week, Trivia Tuesday, concert Friday, maybe something over the weekend, repeat. I'll get used to it, and I'll find that I enjoy it. Just for now, I'm shifting from college to home without the clutch.
The year sort of fizzled out for me in terms of feeling like the end of school. I wasn't around enough to see everyone freaking about finals, so I didn't feel like it was the big finals season. I really enjoyed my last days at Georgetown because I guess I didn't get too terrible upset about it. If 9 months of school flew by that quickly, I'm sure come August, I'll feel like we'd just said our goodbyes on the Hilltop.
What have I learned? Well, a lot of this year's effects are hard to describe, but some are easy. I, for all intents and purposes, stumbled onto a group of amazing people who are now a part of my daily and almost hourly life at Georgetown. I have people who I love talking to, be it fantastically stupid conversation, or long talks about the so-called important things in life. Sound familiar to anyone in Alpharetta? It should. Familiar but different. I learned early on that not only will the relationships with Milton kids stand the test of college, but they will become stronger. In addition, my Georgetown friends didn't replace the A Kids, but simply became a different part of my life.
Classes are a double-edged sword. The content can be incredibly good and I've learned bucketloads, but at what cost? We've lost the interactions, the personal feel of all of those AP classes, of Crockett's and Friedman's where the teachers didn't just know your name, but your writing style and your sense of humor. I had one class out of ten that came close to that environment, my English class Spring semester. It was a breath of fresh air. Sure, I've learned so much math I literally don't know what to do with it. Sure, I knew enough about Kantian ethics to talk with my friends about Kitty Genovese last night after trivia. But I still wish I knew more people in my classes. Maybe it's my fault. I can be very shy when in a new situation and walking into Friedman's class was walking into years of friendships, not a new situation.
Theater's been amazing. I've said to many people that, were I to draw analogies, my Harbin friends (and Moffet, my fellow refugee) are similar to the A Kids, while theater, ironically enough, is similar to the old Teen Group. I say this because it's varying ages of people who all get along as equals. Plus, I've gotten to dabble in the whole acting thing, which of course strokes my illusions of dramatic grandeur that we all know I have. I got to have a swordfight in period clothing. I got to be a father. And, in a huge acting stretch for me, I got to be a student who has a good point and then lost it....what was I saying? All in all, I'm happy to now be a member of Mask and Bauble Dramatic Society.
But sitting here, Mask and Bauble, my classes, everything Georgetown but the people seems for a moment dreamlike, as if I just woke up in last year's summer from the most vivid dream imaginable and I didn't actually do any of it. However, the moment I get up from this computer, I'll feel it again. That unrelenting feeling that I do not belong here anymore. Sure, I have a bed to sleep in, a sense of directions around the town, and friends to visit with, but I still feel like a stranger. It can be attributed to the fact that I haven't accepted that this summer will be fun in its own right and not in a continuation-of-last-summer way. That hit hard at trivia last night. New venue, new faces, bad sound, it was all new and, at times, I felt like I was in Bizarro-world Alpharetta.
And yet it was fun. I hope no one reads this and thinks, wow, Ian hates being home. No, I'm uncomfortable being home, something I recognize as temporary. We had fun at trivia, as well as in the conversation afterwards outside of the insurance office. Things will be fun this summer, if a bit reigned in by the re-emergence of parents. Soon there will be a grind of work all week, Trivia Tuesday, concert Friday, maybe something over the weekend, repeat. I'll get used to it, and I'll find that I enjoy it. Just for now, I'm shifting from college to home without the clutch.
Wednesday, May 12, 2004
Everyone seems to be writing their end of year blogs, wrapping things up, saying goodbye, etc. I suppose it would be best to join in.
It's Wednesday. I came back from Pennsylvania today by train. It's been a crazy week. So much has changed.
This time last week I was driving up to PA with my mom, having moved out to a limited degree. We discussed the plans for my Mom-mom's funeral on Thursday. I was to do a reading as well as be a pall-bearer. I was still pretty detached about her passing. I missed her, but I'd been missing her and there didn't seem to be much that had changed.
I got my hair cut that afternoon, and by some miscalculation on my part, ended up getting my hair buzzed off with a level 2 clipper guard. It's the shortest it has ever been and yet it's already growing back. Waxing overly poetic, I think about how some things mend so easily. Great losses form holes, but the holes get filled or we realize we didn't actually lose anything at all. Best example would be the A Kids once I left for college. I thought there would be a void and that things would be strained. On the contrary, things seem to be pretty strong, still. The relationships have changed, strengthened and focused. That's sort of stream of consciousness, I guess.
Thursday was the funeral. I was fine at the wake. Being a typical Irish family, we were told to stand in a line to receive friends and extended family, but instead we drifted about, talking to everyone, visiting with old friends, like Mom-mom would have wanted us to.
It had never struck me how large my family is until we all met at the funeral home. Even big family get togethers didn't seem to convey the size of our immediate family as much as seeing all four of my uncles and their wives, my mother, and my 7 cousins all together. I feel a lot closer to everyone now, probably because this is the first serious family thing for which I have been an adult. I feel like a real part of the family, as opposed to a kid just watching it all go by. I found myself introducing people, surprising myself with how many people I knew of our extended family. I didn't recognize my god-mother, which was awkward at first, but funny soon afterwards. People smiled and pointed at the pictures on two posterboards of pictures we had put together, one titled "Mary" that highlighted her life before grandkids and the other titled "Mom-mom" with pictures of her with all of us.
Then came the actual mass. My composure began to break as we first took the casket out to the procession. As we didn't actually have to lift it on our shoulders, every male in the family was able to at least put a hand on the casket as we rolled it outside. I just looked around at my uncles, showing varying degrees of loss from my Uncle Frank's composed approach to my Uncle Bob's tearful silence, then at the older male cousins, Brian and Steve, who, like me, were old enough to have memories of Mom-mom before alzheimer's, memories that were no doubt flooding to mind throughout the day. One of the best pictures on the posterboard was one of Mom mom underhanding a wiffle ball to Brian while he winds up with a big plastic bat. He told me at some point during the day that he remembered that Mom-mom always had time to toss him a ball when he asked her. Then there were Sean and Colin, who aren't necessarily young, but have an understanding of what's going on without a whole lot of knowledge as to how to act. They were both respectable and solemn the whole time, but sometimes they seemed to be observing more than participating, which I suppose comes from their limited contact with Mom-mom when she was fully there.
At the mass, I did the first reading without problems, but then somewhere between the Gospel and the homily, I lost it. I began tearing up and holding back sobs. I starting thinking about all the trips we took with Mom-mom, to England and Florida and Charleston and the times I stayed at her house or the times she came down to stay with us. I realized or perhaps simply remembered how close I was to Mom-mom. Since Mom raised me all alone, Mom-mom was there to lend a hand and had a greater part in raising me than Dad did. All these thoughts hit hard, and I fought back tears as I brought up the gifts with Erin, then lost it again while Erin was singing the Prayer of St. Francis. Finally, outside the church, after placing the casket back into the hearse, I completely let go and leaned on Brian while crying my eyes out. He put his arm around me and patted me on the back and reassured me in a way that made me forget that he was only a high school freshmen. As we were getting into Mom's car to proceed to the cemetary, Uncle Don came over with the basket of stuffed animals Mom-mom had in her room at the nursing home. He wanted each of her grandchildren to have one and I took a little Beanie Baby monkey named Bongo.
We buried Mom-mom in the same grave that my grand-father was buried in over 30 years ago. My mom hadn't been there in 32 years, so her emotions must have been all over the place. My uncle Kevin forced a smile and joked that "He's had over 30 years of piece and quiet and now, here she comes!" We all tossed our roses onto the casket and paid our last respects before milling around with the guests. I spent a few minutes talking to my mom's friend Elaine, who I'd been unable to talk to before due to my breakdown at the church. As my Aunt Pat and uncle Bob went by, I heard my aunt say, "She was a great person." My uncle replied, through tears and choked-back sobs, "She was a beautiful person."
We had a small lunch at a Country Club. Someone said it was another typical Irish tradition at a funeral to have drinks and food after the ceremonies. A bunch of the cousins sat at one table and Erin and I told stories of Georgetown life. It was a pleasant end to a hard day.
Actually, I had to come back to Georgetown by train, that afternoon, get some dinner and then study until about 2 AM for my 9 AM Biblical Literature final, but I pretended that the lunch was the end of my day.
This post obviously is no longer about the end of the year and I'm no longer in the mood to write a "Goodbye" blog yet. I'm glad I wrote all this out, but I'm done for now.
It's Wednesday. I came back from Pennsylvania today by train. It's been a crazy week. So much has changed.
This time last week I was driving up to PA with my mom, having moved out to a limited degree. We discussed the plans for my Mom-mom's funeral on Thursday. I was to do a reading as well as be a pall-bearer. I was still pretty detached about her passing. I missed her, but I'd been missing her and there didn't seem to be much that had changed.
I got my hair cut that afternoon, and by some miscalculation on my part, ended up getting my hair buzzed off with a level 2 clipper guard. It's the shortest it has ever been and yet it's already growing back. Waxing overly poetic, I think about how some things mend so easily. Great losses form holes, but the holes get filled or we realize we didn't actually lose anything at all. Best example would be the A Kids once I left for college. I thought there would be a void and that things would be strained. On the contrary, things seem to be pretty strong, still. The relationships have changed, strengthened and focused. That's sort of stream of consciousness, I guess.
Thursday was the funeral. I was fine at the wake. Being a typical Irish family, we were told to stand in a line to receive friends and extended family, but instead we drifted about, talking to everyone, visiting with old friends, like Mom-mom would have wanted us to.
It had never struck me how large my family is until we all met at the funeral home. Even big family get togethers didn't seem to convey the size of our immediate family as much as seeing all four of my uncles and their wives, my mother, and my 7 cousins all together. I feel a lot closer to everyone now, probably because this is the first serious family thing for which I have been an adult. I feel like a real part of the family, as opposed to a kid just watching it all go by. I found myself introducing people, surprising myself with how many people I knew of our extended family. I didn't recognize my god-mother, which was awkward at first, but funny soon afterwards. People smiled and pointed at the pictures on two posterboards of pictures we had put together, one titled "Mary" that highlighted her life before grandkids and the other titled "Mom-mom" with pictures of her with all of us.
Then came the actual mass. My composure began to break as we first took the casket out to the procession. As we didn't actually have to lift it on our shoulders, every male in the family was able to at least put a hand on the casket as we rolled it outside. I just looked around at my uncles, showing varying degrees of loss from my Uncle Frank's composed approach to my Uncle Bob's tearful silence, then at the older male cousins, Brian and Steve, who, like me, were old enough to have memories of Mom-mom before alzheimer's, memories that were no doubt flooding to mind throughout the day. One of the best pictures on the posterboard was one of Mom mom underhanding a wiffle ball to Brian while he winds up with a big plastic bat. He told me at some point during the day that he remembered that Mom-mom always had time to toss him a ball when he asked her. Then there were Sean and Colin, who aren't necessarily young, but have an understanding of what's going on without a whole lot of knowledge as to how to act. They were both respectable and solemn the whole time, but sometimes they seemed to be observing more than participating, which I suppose comes from their limited contact with Mom-mom when she was fully there.
At the mass, I did the first reading without problems, but then somewhere between the Gospel and the homily, I lost it. I began tearing up and holding back sobs. I starting thinking about all the trips we took with Mom-mom, to England and Florida and Charleston and the times I stayed at her house or the times she came down to stay with us. I realized or perhaps simply remembered how close I was to Mom-mom. Since Mom raised me all alone, Mom-mom was there to lend a hand and had a greater part in raising me than Dad did. All these thoughts hit hard, and I fought back tears as I brought up the gifts with Erin, then lost it again while Erin was singing the Prayer of St. Francis. Finally, outside the church, after placing the casket back into the hearse, I completely let go and leaned on Brian while crying my eyes out. He put his arm around me and patted me on the back and reassured me in a way that made me forget that he was only a high school freshmen. As we were getting into Mom's car to proceed to the cemetary, Uncle Don came over with the basket of stuffed animals Mom-mom had in her room at the nursing home. He wanted each of her grandchildren to have one and I took a little Beanie Baby monkey named Bongo.
We buried Mom-mom in the same grave that my grand-father was buried in over 30 years ago. My mom hadn't been there in 32 years, so her emotions must have been all over the place. My uncle Kevin forced a smile and joked that "He's had over 30 years of piece and quiet and now, here she comes!" We all tossed our roses onto the casket and paid our last respects before milling around with the guests. I spent a few minutes talking to my mom's friend Elaine, who I'd been unable to talk to before due to my breakdown at the church. As my Aunt Pat and uncle Bob went by, I heard my aunt say, "She was a great person." My uncle replied, through tears and choked-back sobs, "She was a beautiful person."
We had a small lunch at a Country Club. Someone said it was another typical Irish tradition at a funeral to have drinks and food after the ceremonies. A bunch of the cousins sat at one table and Erin and I told stories of Georgetown life. It was a pleasant end to a hard day.
Actually, I had to come back to Georgetown by train, that afternoon, get some dinner and then study until about 2 AM for my 9 AM Biblical Literature final, but I pretended that the lunch was the end of my day.
This post obviously is no longer about the end of the year and I'm no longer in the mood to write a "Goodbye" blog yet. I'm glad I wrote all this out, but I'm done for now.
Everyone seems to be writing their end of year blogs, wrapping things up, saying goodbye, etc. I suppose it would be best to join in.
It's Wednesday. I came back from Pennsylvania today by train. It's been a crazy week. So much has changed.
This time last week I was driving up to PA with my mom, having moved out to a limited degree. We discussed the plans for my Mom-mom's funeral on Thursday. I was to do a reading as well as be a pall-bearer. I was still pretty detached about her passing. I missed her, but I'd been missing her and there didn't seem to be much that had changed.
I got my hair cut that afternoon, and by some miscalculation on my part, ended up getting my hair buzzed off with a level 2 clipper guard. It's the shortest it has ever been and yet it's already growing back. Waxing overly poetic, I think about how some things mend so easily. Great losses form holes, but the holes get filled or we realize we didn't actually lose anything at all. Best example would be the A Kids once I left for college. I thought there would be a void and that things would be strained. On the contrary, things seem to be pretty strong, still. The relationships have changed, strengthened and focused. That's sort of stream of consciousness, I guess.
Thursday was the funeral. I was fine at the wake. Being a typical Irish family, we were told to stand in a line to receive friends and extended family, but instead we drifted about, talking to everyone, visiting with old friends, like Mom-mom would have wanted us to.
It had never struck me how large my family is until we all met at the funeral home. Even big family get togethers didn't seem to convey the size of our immediate family as much as seeing all four of my uncles and their wives, my mother, and my 7 cousins all together. I feel a lot closer to everyone now, probably because this is the first serious family thing for which I have been an adult. I feel like a real part of the family, as opposed to a kid just watching it all go by. I found myself introducing people, surprising myself with how many people I knew of our extended family. I didn't recognize my god-mother, which was awkward at first, but funny soon afterwards. People smiled and pointed at the pictures on two posterboards of pictures we had put together, one titled "Mary" that highlighted her life before grandkids and the other titled "Mom-mom" with pictures of her with all of us.
Then came the actual mass. My composure began to break as we first took the casket out to the procession. As we didn't actually have to lift it on our shoulders, every male in the family was able to at least put a hand on the casket as we rolled it outside. I just looked around at my uncles, showing varying degrees of loss from my Uncle Frank's composed approach to my Uncle Bob's tearful silence, then at the older male cousins, Brian and Steve, who, like me, were old enough to have memories of Mom-mom before alzheimer's, memories that were no doubt flooding to mind throughout the day. One of the best pictures on the posterboard was one of Mom mom underhanding a wiffle ball to Brian while he winds up with a big plastic bat. He told me at some point during the day that he remembered that Mom-mom always had time to toss him a ball when he asked her. Then there were Sean and Colin, who aren't necessarily young, but have an understanding of what's going on without a whole lot of knowledge as to how to act. They were both respectable and solemn the whole time, but sometimes they seemed to be observing more than participating, which I suppose comes from their limited contact with Mom-mom when she was fully there.
At the mass, I did the first reading without problems, but then somewhere between the Gospel and the homily, I lost it. I began tearing up and holding back sobs. I starting thinking about all the trips we took with Mom-mom, to England and Florida and Charleston and the times I stayed at her house or the times she came down to stay with us. I realized or perhaps simply remembered how close I was to Mom-mom. Since Mom raised me all alone, Mom-mom was there to lend a hand and had a greater part in raising me than Dad did. All these thoughts hit hard, and I fought back tears as I brought up the gifts with Erin, then lost it again while Erin was singing the Prayer of St. Francis. Finally, outside the church, after placing the casket back into the hearse, I completely let go and leaned on Brian while crying my eyes out. He put his arm around me and patted me on the back and reassured me in a way that made me forget that he was only a high school freshmen. As we were getting into Mom's car to proceed to the cemetary, Uncle Don came over with the basket of stuffed animals Mom-mom had in her room at the nursing home. He wanted each of her grandchildren to have one and I took a little Beanie Baby monkey named Bongo.
We buried Mom-mom in the same grave that my grand-father was buried in over 30 years ago. My mom hadn't been there in 32 years, so her emotions must have been all over the place. My uncle Kevin forced a smile and joked that "He's had over 30 years of piece and quiet and now, here she comes!" We all tossed our roses onto the casket and paid our last respects before milling around with the guests. I spent a few minutes talking to my mom's friend Elaine, who I'd been unable to talk to before due to my breakdown at the church. As my Aunt Pat and uncle Bob went by, I heard my aunt say, "She was a great person." My uncle replied, through tears and choked-back sobs, "She was a beautiful person."
We had a small lunch at a Country Club. Someone said it was another typical Irish tradition at a funeral to have drinks and food after the ceremonies. A bunch of the cousins sat at one table and Erin and I told stories of Georgetown life. It was a pleasant end to a hard day.
Actually, I had to come back to Georgetown by train, that afternoon, get some dinner and then study until about 2 AM for my 9 AM Biblical Literature final, but I pretended that the lunch was the end of my day.
This post obviously is no longer about the end of the year and I'm no longer in the mood to write a "Goodbye" blog yet. I'm glad I wrote all this out, but I'm done for now.
It's Wednesday. I came back from Pennsylvania today by train. It's been a crazy week. So much has changed.
This time last week I was driving up to PA with my mom, having moved out to a limited degree. We discussed the plans for my Mom-mom's funeral on Thursday. I was to do a reading as well as be a pall-bearer. I was still pretty detached about her passing. I missed her, but I'd been missing her and there didn't seem to be much that had changed.
I got my hair cut that afternoon, and by some miscalculation on my part, ended up getting my hair buzzed off with a level 2 clipper guard. It's the shortest it has ever been and yet it's already growing back. Waxing overly poetic, I think about how some things mend so easily. Great losses form holes, but the holes get filled or we realize we didn't actually lose anything at all. Best example would be the A Kids once I left for college. I thought there would be a void and that things would be strained. On the contrary, things seem to be pretty strong, still. The relationships have changed, strengthened and focused. That's sort of stream of consciousness, I guess.
Thursday was the funeral. I was fine at the wake. Being a typical Irish family, we were told to stand in a line to receive friends and extended family, but instead we drifted about, talking to everyone, visiting with old friends, like Mom-mom would have wanted us to.
It had never struck me how large my family is until we all met at the funeral home. Even big family get togethers didn't seem to convey the size of our immediate family as much as seeing all four of my uncles and their wives, my mother, and my 7 cousins all together. I feel a lot closer to everyone now, probably because this is the first serious family thing for which I have been an adult. I feel like a real part of the family, as opposed to a kid just watching it all go by. I found myself introducing people, surprising myself with how many people I knew of our extended family. I didn't recognize my god-mother, which was awkward at first, but funny soon afterwards. People smiled and pointed at the pictures on two posterboards of pictures we had put together, one titled "Mary" that highlighted her life before grandkids and the other titled "Mom-mom" with pictures of her with all of us.
Then came the actual mass. My composure began to break as we first took the casket out to the procession. As we didn't actually have to lift it on our shoulders, every male in the family was able to at least put a hand on the casket as we rolled it outside. I just looked around at my uncles, showing varying degrees of loss from my Uncle Frank's composed approach to my Uncle Bob's tearful silence, then at the older male cousins, Brian and Steve, who, like me, were old enough to have memories of Mom-mom before alzheimer's, memories that were no doubt flooding to mind throughout the day. One of the best pictures on the posterboard was one of Mom mom underhanding a wiffle ball to Brian while he winds up with a big plastic bat. He told me at some point during the day that he remembered that Mom-mom always had time to toss him a ball when he asked her. Then there were Sean and Colin, who aren't necessarily young, but have an understanding of what's going on without a whole lot of knowledge as to how to act. They were both respectable and solemn the whole time, but sometimes they seemed to be observing more than participating, which I suppose comes from their limited contact with Mom-mom when she was fully there.
At the mass, I did the first reading without problems, but then somewhere between the Gospel and the homily, I lost it. I began tearing up and holding back sobs. I starting thinking about all the trips we took with Mom-mom, to England and Florida and Charleston and the times I stayed at her house or the times she came down to stay with us. I realized or perhaps simply remembered how close I was to Mom-mom. Since Mom raised me all alone, Mom-mom was there to lend a hand and had a greater part in raising me than Dad did. All these thoughts hit hard, and I fought back tears as I brought up the gifts with Erin, then lost it again while Erin was singing the Prayer of St. Francis. Finally, outside the church, after placing the casket back into the hearse, I completely let go and leaned on Brian while crying my eyes out. He put his arm around me and patted me on the back and reassured me in a way that made me forget that he was only a high school freshmen. As we were getting into Mom's car to proceed to the cemetary, Uncle Don came over with the basket of stuffed animals Mom-mom had in her room at the nursing home. He wanted each of her grandchildren to have one and I took a little Beanie Baby monkey named Bongo.
We buried Mom-mom in the same grave that my grand-father was buried in over 30 years ago. My mom hadn't been there in 32 years, so her emotions must have been all over the place. My uncle Kevin forced a smile and joked that "He's had over 30 years of piece and quiet and now, here she comes!" We all tossed our roses onto the casket and paid our last respects before milling around with the guests. I spent a few minutes talking to my mom's friend Elaine, who I'd been unable to talk to before due to my breakdown at the church. As my Aunt Pat and uncle Bob went by, I heard my aunt say, "She was a great person." My uncle replied, through tears and choked-back sobs, "She was a beautiful person."
We had a small lunch at a Country Club. Someone said it was another typical Irish tradition at a funeral to have drinks and food after the ceremonies. A bunch of the cousins sat at one table and Erin and I told stories of Georgetown life. It was a pleasant end to a hard day.
Actually, I had to come back to Georgetown by train, that afternoon, get some dinner and then study until about 2 AM for my 9 AM Biblical Literature final, but I pretended that the lunch was the end of my day.
This post obviously is no longer about the end of the year and I'm no longer in the mood to write a "Goodbye" blog yet. I'm glad I wrote all this out, but I'm done for now.
Monday, May 10, 2004
Well, I screwed up my computer and lost everything that was written or saved after the big backup before I reinstalled Windows the first time. I thought I'd lost everything from senior year, journals, red letters, pictures, everything. Luckily, a lot of that is ok. But I did lose this past semester. It feels weird to say that and I know my memory shouldn't be reliant on pictures and documents. However, we all do it. We all like to go back and have evidence that we once had completely different priorities and ideals. Sure, I can piece together a lot. Most of my written Georgetown journals that weren't in my handwritten book were posted to this blog, so they're salvageable. The pictures can be assembled from friends and the music, well the music doesn't really matter much in the long run anyway.
I did lose my story though. I now have only 12 pages of the 17 that I had most recently and as anyone who writes ofte knows, five pages is a tremendous loss. Besides, I made some incredibly large character changes right before my last saved copy and now those are all gone. My only hope is to contact the English dept. at school and get the copy I submitted for the contest. If I don't get at least a semi-recent copy, I might be too discouraged to continue. May seem dramatic, but I don't know if anyone else understands how much of a loss it is. Sure, I know the ideas of what I wrote, but I lost the words.
IT's sad that in this day and age, it's so hard to lose a lot of computer data like that. It's a blow and people are nice to you like it's some small scale death in the family (I should know). I was devastated when I thought I'd lost it all. Maybe our priorities are all screwed up, but I think I want to have the records. The records actually keep me from dwelling on the past, because I can go back if I want to, I don't have to keep reliving it in my head to keep it fresh.
I guess with the funeral (which I might blog about when I feel ready), I've been thinking a lot about maintaining memories and the idea of losing almost two years worth, a significant portion of my life, was disconcerting, to say the least.
I did lose my story though. I now have only 12 pages of the 17 that I had most recently and as anyone who writes ofte knows, five pages is a tremendous loss. Besides, I made some incredibly large character changes right before my last saved copy and now those are all gone. My only hope is to contact the English dept. at school and get the copy I submitted for the contest. If I don't get at least a semi-recent copy, I might be too discouraged to continue. May seem dramatic, but I don't know if anyone else understands how much of a loss it is. Sure, I know the ideas of what I wrote, but I lost the words.
IT's sad that in this day and age, it's so hard to lose a lot of computer data like that. It's a blow and people are nice to you like it's some small scale death in the family (I should know). I was devastated when I thought I'd lost it all. Maybe our priorities are all screwed up, but I think I want to have the records. The records actually keep me from dwelling on the past, because I can go back if I want to, I don't have to keep reliving it in my head to keep it fresh.
I guess with the funeral (which I might blog about when I feel ready), I've been thinking a lot about maintaining memories and the idea of losing almost two years worth, a significant portion of my life, was disconcerting, to say the least.
Sunday, May 02, 2004
Today was shaping to be a real bitch of a day. I have my third math test to cram for, my last ethics reflection paper to write and two hours of rehearsal for a dirceting scene that I have to actually act in later tonight. All in all, that made for a shitty, stressful, probably depressing letdown of a day.
I woke up this morning to my phone ringing. I thought it might be my director letting me know about rehearsal. Instead it was my mom. She had already tried calling and I hadn't woken up. My grandmother, my Mom-mom died this morning. Not only is that tragic, but I also have to live with myself today knowing that my reaction was one of sorrow AND relief. I know, she wouldn't have wanted to live the way she was living and she wouldn't have wanted her children to be in such pain for years watching her, but still, I feel like shit about hoping she would die. Especially when the memories flood back and wash over me, and I can't even get myself out of my room for a shower, much less work my ass off all day to finish shit that doesn't really matter to me right this minute.
I love you, Mom-mom, and even though I've already been missing you for the last few years, now I just wish you'd sit me down at the kitchen table and give me that little foil bowl of Rice Krispies and tell me everything's gonna be ok.
I woke up this morning to my phone ringing. I thought it might be my director letting me know about rehearsal. Instead it was my mom. She had already tried calling and I hadn't woken up. My grandmother, my Mom-mom died this morning. Not only is that tragic, but I also have to live with myself today knowing that my reaction was one of sorrow AND relief. I know, she wouldn't have wanted to live the way she was living and she wouldn't have wanted her children to be in such pain for years watching her, but still, I feel like shit about hoping she would die. Especially when the memories flood back and wash over me, and I can't even get myself out of my room for a shower, much less work my ass off all day to finish shit that doesn't really matter to me right this minute.
I love you, Mom-mom, and even though I've already been missing you for the last few years, now I just wish you'd sit me down at the kitchen table and give me that little foil bowl of Rice Krispies and tell me everything's gonna be ok.