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First
2/14/15
Grandma’s memorial, or funeral, or Celebration of Life.
Valentines Day. Heart shaped cookies everywhere. Heart shaped balloons.
Why this day? For Grandpa? Celebrate his wife on Valentines Day? That could either be endearing, or extremely depressing.
At first, comfortable. Knew everyone. Everyone knew me. Cousins, Aunty Jen, Uncle Brandon, Uncle John, Grandma Kay was even there. Uncle Dan I had never met, but had heard from everyone his drunken escapades. My second cousins from Washington, who already knew me from when I was 3. Great Aunty Lin too, and Grandma’s best friend Linda, who I remember from living in Idaho. All these people cried. All these people wanted to talk to me, know how I was doing, enthused on my art, even the Aunts that I had never met until now. I felt happy about remembering Grandma.
Later, strangers emerged and the older people left. Skinny, fit people with lots of jewelry and bleach blonde hair and tans and old faces trying to look young while frowning and staring at me. I am Susan Blosch’s eldest grandchild and these people acted like this was some rando party and I was some rando shmo there. Earlier when I cried it was okay, but later when I cried it was embarrassing. I don’t know who these people are and it makes me angry that they are here, sharing in what is supposed to be a special event. They don’t belong here. Drinking up all the beer and cocktails. Making this their Valentines Day date. Did they even know Susan? Do they even know why they are here? They must have been friends of my Aunt’s because she is the one who arranged the memorial. They must have come to support her and Brandon…but I didn’t know them, and none of them talked to my mother or me, and only to each other. They looked at me funny. When me and my siblings came near them, they ran away. The only good thing they did was bring more beer. The cocktails only seemed to heighten my awareness of this, but at least it also put me at some ease with it. Though I remember all of it. I remember bouncing from group to group of people because I just felt so awkward and anxious
Of some miracle, Mom released us to ourselves. At Grandma’s favorite restaurant, me, my siblings, and our partners all agreed that the memorial was super weird, super uppity, and felt like none of us belonged and all the people there were so random. This is supposed to be my family, but only us Porters belong together. We do not fit in with those other people; the rich, “hard-working”, “normal”, pretty people. Susan Blosch was our tie to them and now it is severed.
But, the day was about Grandma and Grandpa. The day was for Grandpa. Maybe he knew all those random people, maybe he liked them and talked to them. Even if they were random and drank all his beer, maybe all the people around comforted him. I hope so, because that is really what matters.
Regardless, leaving felt like bliss. Which makes me even sadder.
2/17/15
Drawing class. Previously, during our weekend, we had to go out, go on an “adventure” or “journey” or “out of comfort zone” and gather “data”. We had to take pictures, do some sketches, take notes, and then write a reflection/summary of the events to help spur creative juices in the brain.
My adventure: Grandma’s memorial. Took pictures of her knicknacks, her dog. Took notes on my interactions with people, strangers I met, strangers who met me 20 years ago as a toddler, and strangers whom I’m pretty sure only came for the free alcohol on a weekend.
In class, we had to share with the class our research and what we might do with our project. So, thus, announced to class I went to my Grandmother’s memorial. I thought it would be okay, since on weekend me and Mother got drunk while also crying eyes out, but talking about the death still makes me feel like I am made of glass…one wrong poke and I will tip over and shatter.
I got some “awws” from classmates. Made me feel stupid. But went on and explained that I want to do some sort of homage to Grandma, since project is supposed to be off of research. Want to do desert scene…or ocean scene, Grandma’s favorite scenes. Not sure how though, yet.
Girl said “if you can handle it” when sharing an idea with me. Half of me rejected her stubbornly believing that I am a strong willed and iron hearted, laughing at her poke at my ego, but rationally knew that melancholy is most likely going to happen. Her idea was to turn my record of estranged relatives and strangers into a piece celebrating my family…I can only think “they are strangers, why would I celebrate them?” But I think I am just being cynical. Maybe when my grief is over I’ll also get over this poopy rejection of my extended family.
First
2/14/15
Grandma’s memorial, or funeral, or Celebration of Life.
Valentines Day. Heart shaped cookies everywhere. Heart shaped balloons.
Why this day? For Grandpa? Celebrate his wife on Valentines Day? That could either be endearing, or extremely depressing.
At first, comfortable. Knew everyone. Everyone knew me. Cousins, Aunty Jen, Uncle Brandon, Uncle John, Grandma Kay was even there. Uncle Dan I had never met, but had heard from everyone his drunken escapades. My second cousins from Washington, who already knew me from when I was 3. Great Aunty Lin too, and Grandma’s best friend Linda, who I remember from living in Idaho. All these people cried. All these people wanted to talk to me, know how I was doing, enthused on my art, even the Aunts that I had never met until now. I felt happy about remembering Grandma.
Later, strangers emerged and the older people left. Skinny, fit people with lots of jewelry and bleach blonde hair and tans and old faces trying to look young while frowning and staring at me. I am Susan Blosch’s eldest grandchild and these people acted like this was some rando party and I was some rando shmo there. Earlier when I cried it was okay, but later when I cried it was embarrassing. I don’t know who these people are and it makes me angry that they are here, sharing in what is supposed to be a special event. They don’t belong here. Drinking up all the beer and cocktails. Making this their Valentines Day date. Did they even know Susan? Do they even know why they are here? They must have been friends of my Aunt’s because she is the one who arranged the memorial. They must have come to support her and Brandon…but I didn’t know them, and none of them talked to my mother or me, and only to each other. They looked at me funny. When me and my siblings came near them, they ran away. The only good thing they did was bring more beer. The cocktails only seemed to heighten my awareness of this, but at least it also put me at some ease with it. Though I remember all of it. I remember bouncing from group to group of people because I just felt so awkward and anxious
Of some miracle, Mom released us to ourselves. At Grandma’s favorite restaurant, me, my siblings, and our partners all agreed that the memorial was super weird, super uppity, and felt like none of us belonged and all the people there were so random. This is supposed to be my family, but only us Porters belong together. We do not fit in with those other people; the rich, “hard-working”, “normal”, pretty people. Susan Blosch was our tie to them and now it is severed.
But, the day was about Grandma and Grandpa. The day was for Grandpa. Maybe he knew all those random people, maybe he liked them and talked to them. Even if they were random and drank all his beer, maybe all the people around comforted him. I hope so, because that is really what matters.
Regardless, leaving felt like bliss. Which makes me even sadder.
2/17/15
Drawing class. Previously, during our weekend, we had to go out, go on an “adventure” or “journey” or “out of comfort zone” and gather “data”. We had to take pictures, do some sketches, take notes, and then write a reflection/summary of the events to help spur creative juices in the brain.
My adventure: Grandma’s memorial. Took pictures of her knicknacks, her dog. Took notes on my interactions with people, strangers I met, strangers who met me 20 years ago as a toddler, and strangers whom I’m pretty sure only came for the free alcohol on a weekend.
In class, we had to share with the class our research and what we might do with our project. So, thus, announced to class I went to my Grandmother’s memorial. I thought it would be okay, since on weekend me and Mother got drunk while also crying eyes out, but talking about the death still makes me feel like I am made of glass…one wrong poke and I will tip over and shatter.
I got some “awws” from classmates. Made me feel stupid. But went on and explained that I want to do some sort of homage to Grandma, since project is supposed to be off of research. Want to do desert scene…or ocean scene, Grandma’s favorite scenes. Not sure how though, yet.
Girl said “if you can handle it” when sharing an idea with me. Half of me rejected her stubbornly believing that I am a strong willed and iron hearted, laughing at her poke at my ego, but rationally knew that melancholy is most likely going to happen. Her idea was to turn my record of estranged relatives and strangers into a piece celebrating my family…I can only think “they are strangers, why would I celebrate them?” But I think I am just being cynical. Maybe when my grief is over I’ll also get over this poopy rejection of my extended family.
