I have to give a eulogy on Monday. That means someone is dead. And I hate that. I think death is stupid. Yes, stupid. All you lyrical geniuses can put that in your pipe and smoke it. Because stupid is all I've got tonight.
I'm emotionally drained. I've been on the phone trying to sort through the logistical nightmare of last-second travel plans on the second busiest travel weekend of the year. I've spoken more to distant cousins in the last 4 hours than I have the last 4 years. My phone has been attached to my ear, sweaty and grime covered now. I'm not sure I've said more than annoyed hand gestured to my children in hours, shoeing them out of earshot. MapQuest has been consulted, Travelocity has been overworked and I've texted so much I feel like a 16-year-old girl with a crush. My brain hurts. My eyes hurt. Even my ears hurt. Which is fine because all that masks the fact that my heart hurts.
My grandma died last night, but oddly, and possibly insensitively, I'm not sad about that right now. I miss my father. With every inch of me. Every last memory I have of my grandma is intertwined with a memory of him. Almost 10 years later, when I think of him, that hollowness is hard to shake. It's not fair that he's not here.
He should be the one making these arrangements. That's how it works. He'd book our flights, rent our cars, meet us in Salt Lake to shuttle us to the hotel that he already booked. That's what he did. That was his role. And as I do this, make these calls, book these flights, the fact that he's not here to do it is suffocating. And I miss him. Fiercely.
And I have to get up in front of a congregation and read a eulogy about an incredible woman. A woman who endured more than most should have to. A woman who lived a hard life, but was adored by those who were fortunate enough to know her. I'm pretty sure I got my toughness from her. My stubbornness too thankyouverymuch. I have to read about her place of birth and those she left behind; where she went to school and the very things that made her life matter, relevant. I'm her granddaughter and that's what granddaughters do.
But most granddaughters don't fight back tears not meant for the funeral honoree. And I'm not sure what that says about me.
When my father was killed, I was days away from having Cora. I could not attend his funeral. When his father died 2 years later, I was days away from having Claire. I could not attend his funeral.
This funeral is saying goodbye to the final direct link to my father. This funeral is not what it seems to most and I'm trying to be sad for the right reasons. She deserves that. After all, she raised a son who, 9.5 years later, I still can't seem to get over losing.
