2019-09-26 - 2:11 p.m.
On Saturday we all gathered in the Oxford Cemetery to bury a woman who had died fourteen months earlier. My grandmother had been cremated, and my mother's two half brothers couldn't find the time to be bothered with an actual service.
It seems fitting because they had no time for her while she was alive either, that's why she spent her last few years in a nursing home. They both had houses with a spare bedroom and bathroom on the ground floor, the one even has a wife who's a nurse, the one thing they didn't have was an ounce of compassion.
My mother put her own home on the market in order to sell it and buy a place with the accommodations my grandmother would have needed so she could live with us. Unfortunately when my mother's house finally sold my grandmother had passed a week later. We kept her ashes in the burial urn with us in our new rental place for the past fourteen months though, so at least we got to take care of her for a little while.
It's hard to buy a new house after your mother dies, that's why we're living in this rental now. Especially if you never really wanted to sell your last one and only had to do it because your family is full of monsters.
Here they all were now, standing by my great grandfather's grave ready to bury my grandmother on top of it. I stood there holding the pink marble urn not making eye contact with any of them, as they made small talk with each other like a couple of strangers. Enemies are closer than my family. They probably have more empathy for one another too.
I thought about the phone ringing at three am on July 5th, 2018, when the home called to tell us that she had left this earth.. Just a ring in the dark, and the sound of my mother answering it. Then my house being filled with uncontrollable sobbing for days. I guess it's for the best we did sell that place, my finally memories of it are devastating.
I think about my mother going to that nursing home every day that she had a free moment, taking my grandmother anywhere she needed to go, calling her every day, and my scumbag uncles never lifting a god damn finger.
I couldn't go there to see her. My mom brought her over but I couldn't go there. I never wanted to see her in a place like that. I've felt terrible about it every single day. It haunts me and I cry for hours. My grandmother and I had our ups and downs, saying our relationship was troubled would be an understatement. But after someone dies, you find it harder each day to remember any of the bad things.
Now I just feel like a pathetic lowlife who hates himself.
We're close now though. I hear her all the time. I see her in my dreams and she's young, beautiful, and happy. She isn't in pain anymore and she tries to comfort me. It sadly never works because all I can do is wish I were nicer to her while she was here.
I know I have issues and I'm jaded. I carry a grudge like luggage and I have a problem with letting go. While she was alive all I was focused on was how she threw my mother and I out when I was five and we were homeless living in a car. I think about in my early twenties when I was homeless again in a freezing December and calling her begging her to stay over for a night and her saying, "I don't want to get involved."
I remember making her a rocking chair for Mother's Day and her saying, "I don't know what the hell I'm going to do with that." when I presented it to her.
It doesn't come as much solace now knowing I'll never see her again. All I have are pictures of me as a child hugging her. All I know now is that I love her and wish I could put my arms around her again. Why does life always have to be so fucking complicated?
I didn't believe she was dying that last week. I thought it was just an illness and that she would pull through and soon be living with me, that I would be taking care of her. I figured that she was going to be my roommate and I was going to spend the rest of her life with her.
There just wasn't enough time.
There is never enough time.
On September 21st, 2019, I got on my knees and l placed the pink marble urn with her name on it in the hole above her father's grave. My mom read the 23 Psalm, and then we left my grandmother in the same town where she was born, exactly where she wanted to be.
I'll probably see her in a few nights, or her some sweet words from her. But as for that Saturday, that was the last day I will ever see my uncles again.
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