Wednesday, September 01, 2004
If I die don't ever wake me.
I'm a pallbearer tomorrow. I don't know if I can handle that weight.
Last night was rough. I went to my uncle's wake and I hadn't a clue what to do. I felt awkward in my suit and I fumbled with its pockets. I hated how my mom kept introducing me to second and third cousins I'd never meet again. I had to prattle on about what I'm taking and school and how work is going. I'm thinking excuse me didn't you notice the open coffin in the room and the three grieving daughters? Don't waste your time talking to me.
I realize people need to feel comfortable in times like this, they need to feel like everything's a-ok. That's why they adopt familiar mechanisms like small talk. I hate it. Everyone's laughing and telling stories that have nothing to do with anyone but themselves and I think they're ugly. I can't stand to hear their laughs and I don't want to answer anymore questions. I'm as selfish as they are.
I try to copy everyone else's 'mourning process'. I kneel at the side of the open coffin and I nod my head. I don't say any prayers, I'm not real sure what to do. I guess I should have tried talking to him, but staring at his body only makes me think of Six Feet Under or upset because in death he looks a lot more like my grandfather than in life. My grandfather has always been dead to me. He was dead before I was even a concept. He's always been a man whose voice I imagined, whose gait I had to dream up. He was pictures and other people's memories. That's what my uncle is now. My memories of him are few and I'll have to strain to remember what they are.
I don't know what to say to my cousins and my aunt. They do most of the talking, they shouldn't have to. They ask me to be a pallbearer, I except, but I'm not sure what to say. Do I say 'Of course! I'd be happy to!' 'It'd be an honour.' 'Anything you need me to do'? They're all so trite. I wish I'd seen them more than twice in the last four years. All I can think about is how awesome their dad was the day I went with their family to Canada's Wonderland and we rode all the rollercoasters.
Their mother says she always thought she saw Gus in me, the way I look. I'm sure she must mean my brother, but I smile nonetheless and hold on to it.
When I get home everything feels like it's falling apart. I feel like I'm losing friends or they simply don't care. I can't find a cd that I know is in my room. I spend half my night looking for it because finding it proves that I'm not losing everything. Finding it proves that I'm not completely unfocused. It's a lot of work to make other things right, so the small act of uncovering it in my room becomes my focus.
It's found, but it's not me that tracks it down.
I'm a pallbearer tomorrow. I don't know if I can handle that weight.
Last night was rough. I went to my uncle's wake and I hadn't a clue what to do. I felt awkward in my suit and I fumbled with its pockets. I hated how my mom kept introducing me to second and third cousins I'd never meet again. I had to prattle on about what I'm taking and school and how work is going. I'm thinking excuse me didn't you notice the open coffin in the room and the three grieving daughters? Don't waste your time talking to me.
I realize people need to feel comfortable in times like this, they need to feel like everything's a-ok. That's why they adopt familiar mechanisms like small talk. I hate it. Everyone's laughing and telling stories that have nothing to do with anyone but themselves and I think they're ugly. I can't stand to hear their laughs and I don't want to answer anymore questions. I'm as selfish as they are.
I try to copy everyone else's 'mourning process'. I kneel at the side of the open coffin and I nod my head. I don't say any prayers, I'm not real sure what to do. I guess I should have tried talking to him, but staring at his body only makes me think of Six Feet Under or upset because in death he looks a lot more like my grandfather than in life. My grandfather has always been dead to me. He was dead before I was even a concept. He's always been a man whose voice I imagined, whose gait I had to dream up. He was pictures and other people's memories. That's what my uncle is now. My memories of him are few and I'll have to strain to remember what they are.
I don't know what to say to my cousins and my aunt. They do most of the talking, they shouldn't have to. They ask me to be a pallbearer, I except, but I'm not sure what to say. Do I say 'Of course! I'd be happy to!' 'It'd be an honour.' 'Anything you need me to do'? They're all so trite. I wish I'd seen them more than twice in the last four years. All I can think about is how awesome their dad was the day I went with their family to Canada's Wonderland and we rode all the rollercoasters.
Their mother says she always thought she saw Gus in me, the way I look. I'm sure she must mean my brother, but I smile nonetheless and hold on to it.
When I get home everything feels like it's falling apart. I feel like I'm losing friends or they simply don't care. I can't find a cd that I know is in my room. I spend half my night looking for it because finding it proves that I'm not losing everything. Finding it proves that I'm not completely unfocused. It's a lot of work to make other things right, so the small act of uncovering it in my room becomes my focus.
It's found, but it's not me that tracks it down.
# posted by Die Brucke @ 10:21 PM 
