Funerals

T's grandfather passed away a couple weeks ago. This week was the funeral.

I had not yet met T's extended family. I was quite concerned about being introduced to a highly religious bunch as T's live-in (in sin) 'special friend' in those sorts of circumstances.

After a whirlwind round of introductions at the funeral home, I decided to sneak out for a smoke. I say sneak because T has been hiding my habit from his family since I met them. I creep around like I am a teenager again, making excuses to be outdoors and out of sight. T's parents must believe by now that my dog is completely incontinent, and wonder why I take her everywhere...

So I was standing outside, smoke palmed, checking for parents before each drag. One of T's cousins, J, caught me. He asked if he could bum one. I handed it over, and told J he had to cover for me if any parents came out suddenly. He laughed and commented that at least we weren't smoking dope, then went on to say that if I was interested, he had some good BC bud in the car. I laughed like I thought he was joking, and he let the subject drop, but I felt a little better knowing that I wouldn't be the blackest sheep at the party.

After the burial, we were sitting in the holding pen at the church, where they make the family wait while they seat everyone else. Another of T's cousins came over, introducing himself to me, and saying he had a funny question to ask. He wanted to know if it would be okay if he used T's last name to refer to me in the eulogy, 'to make it easier for everyone to understand'. I started to get nervous again at that point.

I am terrible with names. Sitting in the holding pen, I was trying to use some fancy memory tricks to help me remember the names and relationships of the forty-six people in the room. I asked T to help me sort out who belonged with who. I asked him to tell me something memorable about each of his relatives. T is not very good at this game, in general, as he is not close with his family. However, T surprised me.

He started out pointing at a cousin. 'That guy's father is the one in the green shirt over there. But he's not really the father. The woman in the blue shoes, over there, was cheating on him, so neither of the kids looks like their 'dad'.

'The man over there is my sort-of uncle. Mom's sister was married to him for awhile, but he didn't make enough money, so she divorced him and married the British guy in the grey suit. He's a millionnaire'

'The gal with the little baby in the carrier over here...well, we just found out she was pregnant. Last week. The baby is about six days old. She likes to party, and we're not sure who the father is.'

I don't know why I try so hard to impress these people...

...And I don't know why I think 'religious' people would look down on me...

So anyways, the funeral went much as funerals do, and T and I came home and did some passionate affirming of life on the couch when we got home. Something about funerals does that to me every time...

...And I have to say, the family's less intimidating, somehow...

Perceptive.

They say that travelling with someone is a good way to learn about them. They're right.

We were on our way home, taking the 'scenic' route, which added about 6 hours to the trip. It was already suppertime. We came to the town where my granny used to live, and I got unexpectedly choked up, realising I hadn't been there since the funeral. That's the first time T has seen me cry.

I explained. Granny and I were close.

T looked at me, head cocked, and said "do you need to visit the grave?"

I would never have asked, as we were running so late, but I really, really did.

What a sweetie.

Days before, we had gone to introduce T to my father. Neither of us were looking forward to that. Calling my relationship with Dad 'strained' would be equivalent to calling the Rockies 'a few hills'. Outright combative would be a little more accurate.

We went for dinner, and Dad picked up the tab, then tucked a wad of bills into my pocket. Driving away from the restaraunt, I shook my head.

"I hate that," I told T.

"Does he show he cares by giving people money?" T asked

Perceptive.

"Yeah," I admitted, "and he shows he's pissed off by writing us out of the will."

"Well," T mused, "if that's the only way he knows how to say he cares, why not just accept it?"

Touche...