A post in which we go to see Granny

Today was the day of the immediate family viewing, but that wasn’t until 1pm. In the meantime, I had missions.

I made breakfast, giving the kitchen bare minimum of a going over in the process and removing the mouse poop from counters and such. I made the bed in the front room for Lisa and Carl, and then I headed out.

I had shoes to buy today. Apparently during my marvelous adult competency when I was getting ready to go I forgot to pack my dress shoes for the funeral. I had seen a couple of shoe places near town, one of which ended up having a surprising selection of exactly what I wanted for a very fair price. The clerk who checked me out was very kind.

I also made an unusual foray through Wal-Mart, where I seldom ever shop. Although they’ve already put them away at home, the ones here still had sweatpants out, and I replaced my long worn and patched single pair today. It just seemed like the time for some reason.

I went to Granny’s house and had a sandwich with Mom before we went to the funeral home.

Viewing Granny’s body today was oddly not upsetting to me. It’s hard to explain. She looked good enough; she just looked empty. It was so obvious to me that she wasn’t in there anymore. Plus it was odd because of what was going on. My Great Aunt Kathleen (Granny’s sister) was there, and was determined that all would be done properly. Granny looked odd because her mouth was too wide. “That happens to them,” Kathleen said, with the air of a veteran of many funerals. “You can just have them patch the corners of the mouth a little, and they look better.” After she related this several times to several people, her request was dutifully reported to the mortuary, and a man with a pot of clay and some makeup to make the change was dutifully dispatched.

Well she did look better, but they only fixed the side that faced out. If you looked from the feet up, her mouth looked strangely lop-sided. I don’t know if it was still denial on my part, or that this made it patently obvious how useless what they were doing was, or if I’m just messed up; but it would have been funny if this had been on TV or something. As it was, it was just rather surreal. I wasn’t laughing or anything, but it was just so obvious to me that my Granny was no part of any of this.

Granny hadn’t been to church in years, so she had no minister. Kathleen brought hers. He was a nice-looking man (again, weirdness – how could I be thinking about this now?). He talked to us about scripture we wanted read, and asked for anecdotes about Granny, which we supplied. Before long the family stories got started and I think he got more than he bargained for. And then it was done, and we left. Mom cried a little while we were there. She said Granny looked so much better than when she was in the hospital, and she did. That’s supposed to be part of the grieving process I have read. It helps some people to see the person clean and dressed and seen to, and I can understand that. But I was strangely rather numb through the whole thing.

When we got back to the house the family started coming in. The other grandkids were arriving with their kids and people were coming through to visit the family. There weren’t that many visitors. Granny and Poppy had outlived most of their friends and family. But there was one key visitor.

I’m not sure what obscure relation Stephanie is to me, but she is a bit off. She doesn’t seem to have the same kinds of filters other people have. And her marriage has been rather troubled of late. Her apparently long-suffering husband had been looking after her for years when he had a stroke. The stroke has apparently changed him, and their relationship became much more volatile. During an especially volatile argument at their house last week, he apparently threatened to kill her. She locked him out of the house. He proceeded to get the gun out of the car (we’re in the mountains here) and shot her through the door. He hit her in the leg, but family shootings are rare, he was still in jail, and this was pretty fresh. There had been almost as much talk about Stephanie as there had been about Granny. We’d had the second-hand blow-by-blow from her step-mother the day before.

Stephanie showed up in person today, and gave us the first-hand. In excruciating detail. For about an hour and a half. And so much more. She was a very sweet woman, but I don’t think she breathed in more than twice the whole time she was here. Eventually, every man in the house beat a retreat for the porch – including me. My cousin Chris, who is with the sheriff’s office, said “I think he was aiming for her mouth. I can shoot better than that.” Which pretty much capped it all.

Lisa and co. arrived later. We stayed and visited with the family, but not too late. We had a baby who had to get to bed sometime, and decisions to make about who slept where. We got back to Grandma’s house and Lisa’s family started their way to bed. Frankly, I was mostly worn out anyway, and they finished the job. I went on to bed.

A post in which I make a visit

This morning, of course, there were things to do.

The house looked a little worse in the light. I knew Lisa would have a fit if she saw it the way it was, so I swept out some of the dead bugs in the floor, made my bed, and tried to make it look a bit more presentable. Then I cleaned out the bathroom a bit and got ready for the day. By the time I had done all that it was seriously time for some breakfast.

I stopped at a little diner called the Coffee House, where kind young women brought me Waffle-House-esque food. I ran to the grocery store to pick up a few groceries for the house so there was something there to eat. I figured Lisa would have enough on her hands. Travelling with my three-year-old niece is a bit like moving Hannibal’s army across the Alps.

That done, the next thing was to go see Grandma. She and Granny were in the same nursing home. Since Grandma gets around pretty well in her chair and is usually on top of everything, she knew all that had happened, knew the family would be coming in, and would be waiting for me. I hate to make her wait, but she’s up and ready to roll (literally) at about 6am, and I just can’t keep up with that.

I found her at Bingo and joined her. We chatted a bit as she played a couple of rounds. The woman on the other side of me wanted help with her card though, and began to get a bit insistent. Grandma wasn’t too fond of that. She likes for my focus to be on her. So eventually she decided she had already won twice, and that we should just go back to her room, which we did. Grandma is very hard of hearing, but doesn’t always ask for her hearing aid. She was very proud of how well she was doing without it today, but in the interest of a better visit I called the nurse and got it for her.

I hardly ever bring Grandma anything. She fusses that cut flowers are wasteful, and that she can’t keep them because the nurses kill them with cold water. My dad and uncle keep her well-stocked with anything she needs, and anything they can think of that she might want, and of course she needs less now in the way of stuff than she used to. She catches me up on the latest tribulations with her roommate, who is apparently wearing her socks. She’s pretty unhappy about that, but overall, she is content enough.

At 90 now, she’s still impatient with being in a wheelchair, and on every visit tells me again that her biggest prayer is to get up and walk again. It’s good that she is still herself, and that she knows me and we can visit, but there are only so many things I can tell her about my life. Many parts of it would upset her, and they’re things she doesn’t need to know. But we still know each other, and we still can feel the bond between us. It is at once comforting and disturbing. She’s so trapped in an increasingly painful and non-functioning body. I tell her the things I can, and the things I can get her to hear, in a fairly short amount of time. She doesn’t want me to go, I can tell, and she tries to think up other things to talk to me about. I like it best when she tells me stories about her life and things she did when she was younger, but she doesn’t do that today. Today she’s anchored in the day, and the goings on, and seeing my mother and her sisters coming and going when Granny passed. Eventually, I walk beside her as she heads in to lunch, talking a bit on my way out. I give her some hugs and kisses in the hall. She tells me she won’t follow me to the door because “It upsets your daddy when I do that.”

When I get back to Granny’s they aren’t back from the funeral home yet. They were making the arrangements today. I lean the seat back in the car and doze for a bit, glad enough to have a moment to myself, but before long they’re back. Lunch is on the agenda, and we head out to another little local watering hole to eat. I’m glad not to go to a chain. As we walk in, we can see a display of locally home-made cakes and pies. The coconut cake was really good.

We went back to the house for planning, and because people would be coming in. Granny’s sister-in-law brought in one of her famous homemade strawberry cakes (which I adore, and she knows it), and visited. But I was feeling bad. My Epstein-Barr was acting up and I felt worse and worse. Eventually I had to excuse myself. I went upstairs, found an as-yet unoccupied bedroom and lay down for a while.

When I woke I felt better, but felt guilty for abandoning Mom to an afternoon of receiving. I was supposed to be here to support her, but thus far all I’ve done is eat meals with her. I apologized, and rand to Grandma’s house for a quick refresher and a change of shirts before supper.

Supper tonight was more intimate. Mom is doing better. There is no way to prepare for your mother dying, but she had a little distance from it at this point, and was getting used to it. Aunt Donna had run home for the night, so it was just my mother’s older sister and her husband tonight. We went to Applebee’s and had a nice meal and talked more about more current things. Afterwards it was back to Grandma’s by myself, but it was OK. I switched some light bulbs out and go the fixture in the bedroom working (I forgot to buy light bulbs), and try to read for a while. Tomorrow there is stuff to do. Again.

A post in which I head for home

However I tried not to think about it, obviously life went on. Or stopped rather. Granny died about 11:30 this morning. I had known this was happening. When Lisa called me, she told me that Mom told her not to come up yet. Lisa was waiting for Mom to tell her when to come, and for plans to be made, etc. I thought about that, but then just thought if not now when? I decided to leave. I just compartmentalized and went on. I knew I had to get the weekly reports put together before I left, and I did.

I went through the motions of getting out of town mechanically, kind of watching myself from a distance and marveling at the competence of this stranger, whoever the hell he was, and a wondering a bit about how he could be so callous when someone had just died. Sometimes I'm surprised to find myself an adult. But that’s what you do. You cope, and you go on. The world doesn’t stop turning. I didn’t even call Mom. I just headed that way. I ran in to a huge traffic jam at the state border, and ended up sitting there, barely creeping, for over an hour and a half. Eventually I did text Mom so she wouldn’t worry. She just sent back “OK”. She knew I would be on the way. I called Lisa too, so she wouldn’t think I was sneaking off up there without telling her. She has the kids and stuff so I’m a bit more mobile. She was fine. Rod is sick, so Mom was up there by herself, and she said she was glad I was going on.

When I got there, they were at the house waiting for my Aunt Donna, the youngest, to arrive. I rarely see my aunts and their husbands, so we visited and caught up a bit. I was the only one of the grandchildren there. We went on to Ruby Tuesday’s for supper. We visited and talked at Granny’s house until late, my mother and her sisters teasing each other the way sisters do.

When it was time for bed I went on to Grandma’s house. I had called Dad earlier today and he had my Uncle Chris open the house for us. No one has lived there since Grandma went to the nursing home. The house didn’t do much to lift my spirits, having sat empty long enough to start to get scruffy. There has apparently been a serious mouse problem because there’s poop in everything. As far as it is out in the country it’s almost impossible to keep the mice down.

On the one hand, it’s a comforting place to be. My grandparents lived there from the time I was born. I helped my grandfather build the fireplace in the den, carrying the bricks into the house for him one by one, the brown knit work gloves huge on my child’s hands. I stayed here with them one summer, just before I started to become a man, my grandmother making ham and eggs for my breakfast. I stuffed myself on her home-grown green beans (my favorite) until I got a stomach ache, and taped paper airplanes to the ceiling of the bedroom at the front of the house. I went to sleep with the windows open, the attic fan pulling the soft night air into the house to the protest of screaming cicadas. When I was a teen-ager I drove up to visit. A trip to Grandma's was the first I ever made on my own. I was so proud to get there with (almost) no directions. The summer of my junior year, I painted the eaves, windows, and doors for her. She insisted on paying me $100. I know every nook and cranny.

It makes me sad to see it as it is now; kind of grungy and neglected, like a once-cherished teddy bear it is about time to discard. It smells musty. All three of the light bulbs in the bedroom fixture were burnt out. But there were clean sheets there my uncle left for me. I plugged in a lamp, made my grandmother’s small bed, and turned in. I put my feet down between the end of the mattress and the footboard and went to sleep in the perfectly quiet early spring night.

A post in which I get bad news

It was a reasonably nice day at work today. As good as Mondays ever are, at any rate. I stopped on the grocery store on the way home to pick up a few things. While I was there, Mom called.

They called the family in on Granny Brown, and she was on the way up home. Granny has been in hospice for over a month now, but things are apparently turning to the worst. Mom just wanted me to know what was going on. For some reason, I went home and frantically made lunches anyway. I guess it’s a denial thing. Southern people are really good at that.

So I made a huge mess, cleaned it all up, and went to bed. I also called Scott, who didn’t answer the phone. I left him a message.

A post in which it is a nice Sunday*

Well as if I didn’t get enough rest yesterday, I planned to spend today as a rest day. My last couple of weekends have been action-packed. A rest day just wasn’t in the cards though. Russ set up a brunch for this morning for us with Scott, since he was staying over last night. That was great. I got the critter-call about 9:30am (which is breakfast in my book, thank you very much), but it turned out that it was a good thing Russ called early. When I got to the house I went to wake up Scott, one thing led to another, and the virtue I had built up last night was wiped away in the blink of an eye.

We did go out to breakfast, and had a good appetite. Breakfast was good, but surprisingly expensive. We went to the Marriott off of Pelham. I had been there before with Dad, and was surprised at the small crowd. That little mystery was solved today. So points for the food, and points for it not being a mad-house (there are a surprisingly small number of breakfast places in Greenville, which always makes it a bit of a crush), but $15 a plate is a bit pricey to me for breakkies. I used to pay it gladly at Johann's (God rest his soul), but that man turned out food that would make angels weep it was so good. Then again, he had cooked for the crowned heads of Europe. Deservedly. And lucky them. It's a sad story. But I digress.

So Scott went on home (he gave me his phone # - yay), and I tried not to ruminate too much on the fact that he just lost his job last week. After 10 years at the same place though, and he’s only 42. Besides, hello, he hasn’t asked for me to marry him or anything. At that point I got a call from my old friend Michael. I had at long last decided to give him the Ethan-Allen wingbacks which have graced my living room lo these many years. They have been good chairs, and still look good, but a) I have a man chair now and their crowdin' me; b) I’ve been a bit in conflict over having two large pieces of leather furniture for a while now; plus c) I promised him the chairs in exchange for his letting me use an air conditioner he had for my apartment on Earle St. I was very poor at the time, and could never have bought my own, so this was a great boon. It’s also been so long ago that when I called him, he quipped “What, did you die?” So I guess it was, indeed, about time.

I ran home, straightened up the house a tiny bit, and prepared to receive visitors. I was hoping that Michael would sit down and visit for a bit. It’s been a while since I saw him and I wanted to catch up a little. Fortunately he arrived with both the time, and a very young man with him. We talked, visited, re-lived the good ole days, and basically bored the stuffing out of that guy until it was time we both got moving. They loaded the chairs, along with a few other things that needed new homes, and went on. I would so much rather give things away to friends than just dump them out at the Salvation Army. I’m a bit sentimental about my things, as I guess most people are.

By the time our visit/gab session/furniture moving was done, it was time to meet Russ and Billy for dinner. Tonight, unfortunately, the choice was Sakura. I’ve eaten there before, and was pretty much underwhelmed. For some reason all the sushi places close on Sunday, perhaps because of the strong Southern tradition of Sunday dinners being for family. That’s my theory anyway. Rarely does granny want to belly up to the sushi bar. But I digress. Again. As I say, Russ and Billy (and a couple of other people) had tried to steer me back in there, but I had been mostly silently (a shock, I know) but strenuously steering the other way. But Russ and Billy had a bee in their bonnets, and so I decided just to get this out of the way. Which Billy was a bit nonplussed about when I announced that at the table. I knew they wouldn’t be dissuaded, however advisedly. The food was actually worse than the last time I was there. I had an oyster roll that had actual chips of oyster shell in it. I just picked around them. I had a tuna roll in which the tuna had been through some nastification process to make it like a slimy spread. Yeah. As Sophia Petrillo says “When you’re as right as I am, you don’t have to say it.” I just soldiered on. By the end of the meal, they saw my point. So that’s done. I went back to the house and visited for a while, but it’s a school night, and I had to woogle off home to bed.

A post in which it is the bear dinner

I was pretty laaaaazy today. I had intended to get up, re-claim that last room from the wiring, do laundry, and general act like a super-hero, but it didn’t happen. I mostly slept. I’ve been feeling pretty run down for the last week or so. I’m afraid the Epstein-Barr is acting up again.

The bear dinner was Saturday night, and I was looking forward to it. Brian was coming, and I like him. Also there was the possibility that Scott might be coming down from Asheville – and possibly I got the impression that he might be coming down to see me.

We went to The Olympian, which has been a great restaurant here for years. I used to eat there a lot more than I do now, partly because their chicken Yianni is one of the best things I have eaten in my life. It was a great temptation when I first went veg. The sauce is the best part, and only has a little chicken broth in it, but I hate going in and making a big production out of ordering something special, so I very rarely eat it any more. No one got it tonight, despite my enthusiastic endorsement. Dammit.

Scott did come to the dinner. He was nice. And he wasn’t with the guy he had been with at the dinner the week before. Turns out he and that guy are just buds. I hope. Well that’s what he said anyway. You never really know at first, ya know?

We went back to the house for drinks and hanging out after supper. It was just the four of us, so it was pretty cozy. Russ wanted to use his new deck so badly, and it is so pretty, but it was so cold we didn’t end up spending much time out there. Of course we have the whole summer long before us, and hopefully many more.

I was a very good boy, kissed Scott, and went home rather to Russ’s surprise. He just seemed to assume that I would be staying over, and of course I wanted to. But it’s so hard at first for me now. I’m a lot less confident in some ways than I used to be.

A post in which I see Terry and Stacy

I had looked forward to seeing Terry and Stacy since Terry called me about it. I scampered home after work and ran over the living room and straightened up a bit. Then it was off to the restaurant to meet them.

I got there early, and since I was to meet them at 7:18:30 I went next door to Purple Haze. I went in to kill time more than anything else. I don’t think that I look like a narc or anything, but every time I go in there the staff is so rude that I don’t want to buy anything from them. Today was no exception. The funny part was that Stacy and Terry had gone in there to kill time too and we ran into each other.

We ate at Pita House. I had forgotten how good the food was – they make the best hummus I’ve ever eaten. It’s better than mine, even when I cook my own chick peas. Their falafel must be tasted to be believed - it is scrumptious. But Pita House has now been discovered. It was packed out with noisy white suburban people. It used to be only cool people that went in there, but no more. I hate the bustle of waiting in line and ordering at the counter before you could sit down almost as much as I love the food. Of course since this was a social occasion I wasn’t going to leave. I sucked it up.

After ordering, we snagged one of the last tables and Terry and I started talking. Stacy occasionally weighed in as well, but since he isn’t really a talker it’s hard to get a word in edgewise when the three of us are together. It was good to see Stacy again – it had been years. When I pulled up his Facebook profile I was quite surprised, never having seen him with short hair before, but he’s apparently growing it back out, and had it at a midi length that was quite flattering.

After supper I went over to the deli portion of the place to get some candy and some olives. They have incredible olives that you dip in bulk, and for a place that carries pitted Kalamatas (which are sinfully indulgent), they’re pretty cheap. Unfortunately, the counter they put in the deli section wasn’t manned tonight (really? on Friday night??) so I had to wait through the whole line of customers to pay for my stuff at the counter. Aggravating. They really need to organize.

We went back to the house and settled into the living room for a visit. It was a beautiful cool spring evening, and I had the windows open. Evening lighting is most flattering for the living room, and the house looked pretty good. I was most happy to have them there.

We talked and visited for a while. I had some residual bad Juju from an old buddy that used to come by, and they cleansed that out of the house for me, which I appreciated. Stacy was standing behind me with her hands on my shoulders as part of that, and all I could think about was the new fat packets I had found in my shoulders when I had the flu. His hands were right on them… It took everything I had to push that thought out of my head and concentrate on what was going on. Funny, just when you think your body has found all the possible places to store fat, it betrays you in some new way.

My only regret about the evening was that they pooped out on me about 10:30. I was ready to yak all night. But they left. I cleaned up the glasses and stuff, watched a little telly, and reflected that an early night wouldn’t do me any harm.