Im glad I went.

My grandmother's funeral was today.
Dont go to them.
Didnt go to my aunts funeral.
Had "plans" for this Saturday.
Annoyed.
Did my grandmother even like me?
Funeral on Saturday.
Why not on Monday?
I could have gotten off work.
Did I love her? Do I love her?
Saw her.
White casket.
With light pink blankets.
A doll sitting in the casket.
Granny loved dolls.
Twinge.
Do I love her?
Hug relatives.
Am surprisingly happy to hug relatives.
Happy that I am happy.
Funeral starts.
Old old woman sings.
Craggy voice.
Sweet, Southern craggy voice.
I cry.
And cry.
I cry on Mick.
I cry because I care.
I cry because I know I care.
No obituary for my grandmother.
We are the witnesses of her life.
The only living record.
She cared for the elderly.
I remember her telling me to bring dinner over to Pauline.
Sweet Pauline.
With the chair that raised and lowered
For Pauline.
She worked at KFC.
KFC was around then?
Aunt Rose looked great.
We gather round the casket.
I kiss her forehead.
Her cold cold forehead.
And feel warmth.
And outside,
The trees are beautiful.
The sun is shining.
The wind is cool.
A catepillar lands on my skirt.
I see all my relatives.
The ones who I had already sentenced.
I see them cry.
And care.
And love.
I see that I loved too.
I really did love my grandmother.

I cant write what I want to write. So Im writing the experience in shorter terms. So maybe one day I can rewrite it better. But in case I dont, there's something here to remind me of this day. I really didnt think I loved my relatives more than anything beyond duty. And love for the sake of duty, is that really love? But, today, I felt love and concern that wasnt forced. And I felt bad for missing out on Aunt Denise's funeral. And also today, I grieved but it was all refreshing too. I really felt that this life is truly beautiful and wonderful.


A Visitor by Mary Oliver

My father, for example,
who was young once
and blue-eyed,
returns
on the darkest of nights
to the porch and knocks
wildly at the door,
and if I answer
I must be prepared
for his waxy face,
for his lower lip
swollen with bitterness.
And so, for a long time,
I did not answer,
but slept fitfully
between his hours of rapping.
But finally there came the night
when I rose out of my sheets
and stumbled down the hall.
The door fell open

and I knew I was saved
and could bear him,
pathetic and hollow,
with even the least of his dreams
frozen inside him,
and the meanness gone.
And I greeted him and asked him
into the house,
and lit the lamp,
and looked into his blank eyes
in which at last
I saw what a child must love,
I saw what love might have done
had we loved in time.