I didn’t have time to prepare a post for my blog last night because I was in such an emotional state when I got home, I simply couldn’t concentrate. You see, I had to go to
And I’ve stuck to that vow. Now, all evidence to the contrary, I’m not a totally insensitive person. I will go to a viewing, like I did last night, but I usually hang around only long enough to be sociably polite, then I’m out the door. I am a whirlwind of condolences. That, however, was not possible last night.
My two surviving brothers were unable to attend; one is still looking after my sister-in-law who had the lung surgery, and my other brother and sister-in-law are vacationing at the beach in
These kind of family “gatherings” are bittersweet at best. While I did get to see my two surviving aunts on my dad’s side of the family and oodles of cousins I had not seen in fifteen years or more, the overall experience left me feeling miserably sad. I cried all the way home, which made maneuvering through traffic on I-75 between
These kind of get-togethers just bring back too many memories for me. Yes, most of them are of the happy variety, but they are – nevertheless – reminders of years gone by, of so many familiar faces no longer walking among us, sharing in the laughter, the stories, the tears. Yeh, I was ready to walk in front of a bus about an hour after I arrived. I did manage to hang on for a couple of hours, however, and I learned a few things.
For example, my cousin Mary informed me that she had been named after my mother. I did not know that. Mary came from a large family…there were eight of them…seven girls and one boy. They had a great mom, my Aunt Clarabelle, and a lousy dad. For those of you who watch LOCI…think Bobby’s dad…and you’ll know what I’m talking about.
So, we all shared stories, got caught up on spouses, and kids and jobs and such. I never have much to offer in that area because I’ve never been married, don’t have kids or grandkids. Hell, I don’t even have a cat. Now, I do have a fabulous fantasy-life I lead with the dashing Detective Bobby, but that is not the sort of thing one admits “out loud” to one’s relatives, lest they call the men in white jackets to come cart you away to the loony bin.
One bright spot was I got to see my cousin, Mike…who looks a heck-of-a lot like Tom Selleck. (I used to have a "thing" for Tom Selleck.) The first time I met Mike was at a family reunion in
When Mike started to introduce me to his wife, he had barely uttered my first name when her eyes lit up, and she said, “Oh, yes! I loved your books!” That’s how the family – even the far removed, distant relatives – recognize me. I used to write historical romance novels, but that was a long, long time ago – in another life. They always ask if I’ve written anything else and want to know why I stopped writing. I have a standard, plausible answer, but I’ve never told anyone the real reason, which is…it’s hard to write about a thing; i.e., romance, when you no longer believe in it.
See what I mean…an emotional, gut-wrenching, soul-searching evening...a funereal Pandora's Box...if you will. I left before the memorial service; I had conjured enough memories – some happy, others...not so much – to last me for many days to come. I didn't need any more. I could hardly wait to get home to the solace of my rinky-dink apartment and the serenity of my sad, little life.
Tomorrow’s post will be about a much happier, more invigorating topic, I promise. Can you say, “Detective?” I’m off to screen cap a particularly amusing scene right now.