![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Saturday, September 15
The morning began early, with mom's "Eat em Quick, we gotta run" breakfast. A couple of biscuits with butter and jam. Made in just a few minutes from a can to get us something in our stomachs while we hurried out of the house.
In another "Maybe mom DOES accept me" moment, she asked me to take out the biscuits from the oven. This is woman's work and she would have waited for it to finish, or pestered my sister for it. Instead she asked me...this may not sound like much, but in out family, where roles are strictly regimented, it's like knocking on Checkpoint Charlie at the Berlin Wall to ask for a cup of sugar.
Fearing for my pickup's safety, we took off in their Tahoe - all of us reminiscing about how many times we'd made this trip to Lytle down PEarsall Road and how thinreally haven't changed in almost 30 years out here.
We all filed into the funeral home and waited for the service to start. A few minutes before it began Dean came in. I had told him abou thte funeral moments after I had informed Emily that my grandmother had died. Dean said he would come to the funeral. He knew my grandmother, and knew I would need some support. He wasn't wrong. As soon as he came into the building, the tears began welling up.
Dean and I have been together a long time. We didn't make a very good couple. We did make very good siblings. He's the brother I never had, has always been there to support me, and after ten years, is one of my my closest deepest friends. Had he not been there for me, I don't know how it would have gone for me that day. I'd have been a train wreck, instead of the fender bender I was all morning.
The service was not what I expected. My mother, from what I gathered, had arranged the funeral, the funeral home, and the service. It wouldn't be a mass, but it would be a eulogy by my grandmother's pastor. Obviously my mother did not arrange the service. The service eulogized my grandmother only for a bit. Then became a "gentle diatribe" of conversion, specifically pointing out the Catholic practices a few of the wives (particularly my mother) had. It eventually became almost spiritual extortion: "Molly has gone to heaven, she has confessed to the lord. If you ever want to see her again, you most proclaim Jesus as your lord and savior to him directly. Not through angels, tithing or saints." If there was ever a reminder why I left organized religion behind, this was an excellent example. Still, judging by the look on my mother's face, the Mexican Roman Catholic in my mom was obviously not happy with the service.
I went with Dean to the actual burial plot in his car, where the final services were held. Instead of the rituals I'd been used to, only a few words were said, and the cemetary was empty before the casket was ever lowered.
We all went to the Catholic Church Hall (the Baptist church hall was too small) for a small reception where, again, it began to get a bit rowdy with everyone there having a brief reunion. Dean and I made the best of things, he hadn't met many of my dad's side, while my mom's side remembered him completely (once you're part of the RealLastName tribe, you can NEVER EVER leave, no matter what), but eventually our energy meters ran out. We opted to go home on our own earlier, while showing Dean the sites of Lytle, and the places I wasn't sure I'd ever see again.
The slow and winding road saw us back home at the same time my parents had come home. And uncle and cousin were there, so we all talked until they headed back to Houston. Dean and I cuaght some sleep (we'd both been running on less than four hours), and after a small dinner, we headed home.
Dean has had a bit of downness himself, sometimes the funk gets to him, like it gets to me. When we got home, we decided to do something we hadn't done in a very very very long time. Definately not since we broke up. We pulled out the Dreamcast, and played Rippin' Riders for a good long while like we used to. After that, we hit the midnight breakfast buffet at Pancake, and came back to Cart to Cart Martini League racing. The games, and the buffet, were exactly what we needed: This was exactly what we'd do on a typical night in 1999 after a long day. The only thing missing was a run of Super Puzzle Fighter, and snow. Thank you, Dean. You really made what could have been a disasterous day into a wonderful night.
Dean slept on the futon, I slept on the bed. The funeral was over and the worst was past. A friend cheered me up when I needed him. It was a good day.
I'm now the second generation.
The morning began early, with mom's "Eat em Quick, we gotta run" breakfast. A couple of biscuits with butter and jam. Made in just a few minutes from a can to get us something in our stomachs while we hurried out of the house.
In another "Maybe mom DOES accept me" moment, she asked me to take out the biscuits from the oven. This is woman's work and she would have waited for it to finish, or pestered my sister for it. Instead she asked me...this may not sound like much, but in out family, where roles are strictly regimented, it's like knocking on Checkpoint Charlie at the Berlin Wall to ask for a cup of sugar.
Fearing for my pickup's safety, we took off in their Tahoe - all of us reminiscing about how many times we'd made this trip to Lytle down PEarsall Road and how thinreally haven't changed in almost 30 years out here.
We all filed into the funeral home and waited for the service to start. A few minutes before it began Dean came in. I had told him abou thte funeral moments after I had informed Emily that my grandmother had died. Dean said he would come to the funeral. He knew my grandmother, and knew I would need some support. He wasn't wrong. As soon as he came into the building, the tears began welling up.
Dean and I have been together a long time. We didn't make a very good couple. We did make very good siblings. He's the brother I never had, has always been there to support me, and after ten years, is one of my my closest deepest friends. Had he not been there for me, I don't know how it would have gone for me that day. I'd have been a train wreck, instead of the fender bender I was all morning.
The service was not what I expected. My mother, from what I gathered, had arranged the funeral, the funeral home, and the service. It wouldn't be a mass, but it would be a eulogy by my grandmother's pastor. Obviously my mother did not arrange the service. The service eulogized my grandmother only for a bit. Then became a "gentle diatribe" of conversion, specifically pointing out the Catholic practices a few of the wives (particularly my mother) had. It eventually became almost spiritual extortion: "Molly has gone to heaven, she has confessed to the lord. If you ever want to see her again, you most proclaim Jesus as your lord and savior to him directly. Not through angels, tithing or saints." If there was ever a reminder why I left organized religion behind, this was an excellent example. Still, judging by the look on my mother's face, the Mexican Roman Catholic in my mom was obviously not happy with the service.
I went with Dean to the actual burial plot in his car, where the final services were held. Instead of the rituals I'd been used to, only a few words were said, and the cemetary was empty before the casket was ever lowered.
We all went to the Catholic Church Hall (the Baptist church hall was too small) for a small reception where, again, it began to get a bit rowdy with everyone there having a brief reunion. Dean and I made the best of things, he hadn't met many of my dad's side, while my mom's side remembered him completely (once you're part of the RealLastName tribe, you can NEVER EVER leave, no matter what), but eventually our energy meters ran out. We opted to go home on our own earlier, while showing Dean the sites of Lytle, and the places I wasn't sure I'd ever see again.
The slow and winding road saw us back home at the same time my parents had come home. And uncle and cousin were there, so we all talked until they headed back to Houston. Dean and I cuaght some sleep (we'd both been running on less than four hours), and after a small dinner, we headed home.
Dean has had a bit of downness himself, sometimes the funk gets to him, like it gets to me. When we got home, we decided to do something we hadn't done in a very very very long time. Definately not since we broke up. We pulled out the Dreamcast, and played Rippin' Riders for a good long while like we used to. After that, we hit the midnight breakfast buffet at Pancake, and came back to Cart to Cart Martini League racing. The games, and the buffet, were exactly what we needed: This was exactly what we'd do on a typical night in 1999 after a long day. The only thing missing was a run of Super Puzzle Fighter, and snow. Thank you, Dean. You really made what could have been a disasterous day into a wonderful night.
Dean slept on the futon, I slept on the bed. The funeral was over and the worst was past. A friend cheered me up when I needed him. It was a good day.
I'm now the second generation.
