with the inherent luck of my forebears, on a day when i should be singing and dancing, i'm crankier than all hell and with only one reason: it's that time of the month.
additionally, i'm having one of those chop-it-all-off hair days, and i don't want to have to call around to people and organize my favorite occasion to swill beer. my sister's husband's uncle passed away so they're off to milwaukee, as her sister-in-law refuses to tell her father-in-law that this uncle passed away. the vagaries of family.
yesterday went well, we got out the door by 6 (YAWN!) and were in verndale by 930, which includes a half hour stop in st cloud for a new windshield wiper. the funeral was at 11; there's not much you can say about a funeral--it was sad, it makes you consider your own life, it makes you glad to be alive in general. we sat around and visited with family all after noon, which was nice--the sisters seem to be getting along better, and there's talk of get togethers in months and years in between tragedies and weddings, and maybe a family website. so that's good. the down side is that i'm sure dan's parents went through a lot of memories of losing a child all over again, as dan's cousin was only 32. at this point it just becomes a matter of putting one foot in front of the other and plodding along. time doesn't heal; it makes the memories of loss a bit softer around the edges, lets you cope and heal as much as you can. cari said once that it's not about being fully healed, ever. you just carry this scar with you always.
too true. i keep thinking of when corey died, and bev. i worry about mike's widow--together they have 4 children, and she's due again in june.
the beauty of things like this is the outpouring of support you see. it makes me want to weep a bit, just to think of all the people gathered in that room, the ladies who gave up their day to serve coffee and potato casserole. i remember after corey died, the pans of lasagna, the buckets of soup, the bread--mainly i remember a pile of homemade cinnamon rolls. they were delicious, but besides that, i know how much trouble it is to make cinnamon rolls by hand--the dough rising, then rolling it out and baking it. i wonder if the baker thought of the reason behind making those rolls, as she baked--did she think of a time when she'd received them, during a difficult time in her past? did she have a pan baked when she heard he'd died, and just dropped them off?
i like to think that she spent her time baking those rolls, kneading the dough, mixing the cinnamon mixture, knowing their end result would be to sit on a counter in the haugen household and tempt people who didn't care enough to eat any of the many, many dishes supplied.
right now i'm sitting here having my very own wake for all those gone before, and trying to toast my cranky attitude into submission, listening to the gaels perform. hopefully tonight we'll get up to kieran's to listen to some good irish music, and drink some tasty beer, and eat something fried and horrible for my arteries. i love irish music--it's the saddest happy music out there, in my opinion. it's the only music that has an exceedingly lively reel attached to words like: "and she left me here alone for to die."
it's perfectly lovely. i'm very blessed. and in being able to sit here and type, i'm lucky, too.
enough maudlin crap, i'm out to enjoy my day. (:
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