So you know how old people who love each other die around the same time? Well, my uncle Chuck, my grandmother's companion for the last 15 years, died this week - Just six weeks after her. I think it's sweet, and I am SO happy that he is not in pain anymore. He had been in chronic pain for over a decade, rallying mightily at my grandmother's funeral, but I'm still glad he has peace now.
Now me? Peace is not exactly the right phrase. I think this is coming right at the moment that I hit the "Anger" phase of my grief process, so I'm feeling quite a hefty dose of righteous indignation about having to stand up for their relationship during the planning of my Grandmother's funeral. (good girls don't talk about such things, I know, and while I hope I don't hurt anyone that reads this by talking about such matters here, this blog is mine, and I need to be able to write what I feel, or else make it private because these things aren't doing me any favors holed up in the deep recesses of my bowels, threatening to chew their way out. And yes, I know that was a run-on sentence, if you don't like it, you can just run-on outta here.)
...I'm really glad I did stand up for what I thought was right though, and that I got to see Chuck one last time a few weeks ago, sit next to him during the service, and feel good about all the wonderful times in the last 15 years that I saw him, spent time talking to him, and that I always was able to see beyond my grief at the loss of my grandfather to see him for what he was: a terribly flawed man that needed help, but that treated love like a base jump off the Sears Tower.
I can just see him grabbing Farrah's hand and saying, "follow me, 'darlin, I'll introduce you to some folks!"
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