Well the moment I’d been dreading all week came today, my Grandmother’s memorial. For obvious reasons, of course, but, rather selfishly, I was nervous about being asked if the piece I wrote after her passing could be read as “part of the proceedings.”
You know, if I’d been asked earlier this week, I’m quite sure I’d have said no. There’s something about having the words I write, read back to me that leaves me feeling awkward andÂ subtletyÂ embarrassed. Sounds strange, I know. Because it is. What can I say? It’s the introvert in me.
But, more to my point, I was “dreading” being asked, mostly, on account of it was an exceptionally hard bit to write so soon after hearing she was gone. And I wasn’t at all comfortable with my reaction in response to my ramblings being spoken aloud, not only to myself, but a room full of people…
I have issues with wearing sadness, in particular, on my sleeve. I don’t care to show those emotions to people, primarily because, if feels like I’m letting myself go. And once I get going it’s incredibly hard to get control of myself again. I’m a messy weeper. And there’s nothing I dislike more than loosing control.
There I parked myself, far enough out of the way of people getting set for the service but well enough in the way to greet friends and family I’ve not seen in awhile, when my uncle approached with the question I’d been, so nervously, expecting. And, quite refreshingly, it felt somewhat different than I envisioned the moment being. Almost empowering. It was so unexpected, I mulled the question over, unfairly making my uncle wait for the answer he needed.
I could see how much it would have meant to allow him to read my words. Not only would be important, but a significant gesture for him to perform in his mothers memory. So I said yes.Â What choice did I have? I mean, fuck, it’s the very least I could do. No matter the consequences.
So when the moment came, I, predictably, started to feel the emotion welling in my chest, but, rather oddly, it stopped. And slowly began to be replaced by a sense, ofÂ all things,Â pride. Not because of my writing, per se, but my “voice.” I “said” the words I’m not so sure would have been spoken had I not written them. Not to give myself something I don’t deserve, or care to take credit for it, but let’s just say I’ve been provided just such a perspective where it was my “duty” to introduce certain issues of “disability” relating to my Grandmother and her memory.
So not only was it an honor to write those words, it was my pleasure they were spoken. In that context, especially. Thank you, Irene, for signing the entire service to a couple of long time friends of my Grandparents and, especially, for benefit of my Grandfather. But, most importantly, I want to thank, both my Uncle and Mother for allowing me the opportunity to participate…