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#259 - illinois for a funeral
03/03/02 @ 11:11 am

Exactly two weeks ago, my husband woke me up to tell me his grandfather had died. I suggested we go over to his sister's house to keep her company, since her husband was out at sea and she was quite shaken up. We spent the day with her, trying to find flights to Illinois for Thursday's funeral.

Monday was a holiday, meaning I couldn't tell my bosses until Tuesday that I had a flight to catch on Wednesday that would keep me out of the office until Monday. I was nervous. Because our vacation was the following week.

Bosslady was pretty cool about it. We flew out late Wednesday morning. It was our first trip since 9/11, and the men in camouflage with big guns were quite intimidating. Sweetie pointed out that it wasn't to intimidate us, that just imagine how intimidating the guns are to possible terrorists. It still freaked me out. I really don't like guns.

We got to Chicago Midway, and Sweetie was pleasantly surprised that they've made the place much nicer since he was last there. That's all his parents could talk about on the trip back, how much better the suckiest airport in America was.

We took a car service out of Chicago for an hour and a half trip in the dark. I think South, but I'm not sure. We met Sweetie's father at a Burger King in a pit-stop along the highway. Got into his car and drove almost another hour to the place my husband's mother grew up. To the house she shared a room with her sister growing up. There have been additions since. Grandma D. was there. Such an amazing woman.

Everyone was so glad to see us. There was food everywhere. Relatives greeting us. Cousins too loud and too bossy, demanding my husband's time. After some dinner, we went over to the place we were staying. The part-time house of my husband's Aunt's sister. She lives in London, but keeps a house there for the times she comes to visit. We got the hide-away bed in the living room. No door. Bah.

The day of our flight had been so busy, and the morning of the funeral was too, rushing to get ready, 7 people and one bathroom. We were so busy just getting ready, I wasn't prepared when we entered the funeral home, and I don't think my husband was either. There was a moment, just steps in the door, when I caught site of Grandpa D. in the coffin, while the others were taking off jackets & greeting relatives. I stood frozen. I was trying not to bolt. My husband took my hand and we walked closer. I'd forgotten how horrible this was, looking at the dead, just laying there. They had put a smile on his face. When I saw that, the impulse to flee doubled, tripled. But my husband pulled me along to go sit down. His grandmother's head blocked the view of the body, thank God. I did alot of talking to God. Thinking about God. Remembering my grandfather's death. My grandmother's death. Remembered how useless it had been to pray to god at those times. And here I was again, trying it out somemore. Old habits die hard.

The service was quite a reasonable length. But my husband being a pall barer, he couldn't sit with me. He sat in the front with the others. He looked horrible, and I didn't want him away from me where I couldn't hold his hand. Right before the service, I walked by him to get some water, and handed him my tissues. I squeezed his hand. It was everything I could do not to take him in my arms. He had to sit right in front of his dead grandfather.

I thought I would be ok. I just had to worry about him. But when the pastor mentioned what an amazing grandfather he was, how much he loved children, I lost it. He was such a beautiful, happy man around his grandchildren. I cried.

It was snowing as we left the home. This weird snow that it did all day. Baby flakes flying everywhere, not sticking to anything, despite it being a few degrees below freezing.

We got into the cars and drove out to the cemetery. I finally got to stand next to my husband and hold him. Thank god we didn't have to watch him being lowered into the ground. But there was a gun salute. Apparently he fought in WWII. The guns were loud. I've never heard a gun shot, not one so close, where you don't ask yourself, "was that a gun or fireworks?" They were guns. I hate guns.

My husband and I leaned on each other, then everyone left. All the grandchildren, aunts, uncles, & grandmother got a rose from his casket. We piled into cars and went to the American Legion. A giant potluck buffet was there. I wondered who made all the food. Who paid for all the food. Just these 4 or 5 women running the show? How sweet of them. There were about a hundred of us.

And slowly, over the course of the next two hours or so, things got mostly back to normal. Homemade food in your belly, kids running around, it happens. And of course, the grandchildren were lined up against a wall and photographed like celebrities. A family tradition. One picture with just them, one with their spouses too. Paparazzi flashing at you like mad. It was pretty funny.

Grandma D. held the new baby, just 2 months old, who'd never met her grandfather. I got pictures. I hope they're nice.

The rest of the trip was amazing. Spending time with these people who've let me into their lives and their hearts and their homes like family. Sweetie's mother pointed out the park she played in, the lot where the church she got married in used to stand, the building where their wedding reception was. We saw the little red school house that's now a museum. We saw the factory that used to be the family business. Since the brothers still run it after selling it, it still kind of is.

There were trips to other little towns. Grandma D. has an apartment about a 1/2 hour away. Many trips were taken there. Sweetie was trying to figure out why her internet connection wasn't working. Me and his mother and one of his uncles chatted with his grandmother. Such an amazing woman. We took a little trip to the store, and I elected to stay in the car and keep her company. She told me how she'd met her husband. How he'd gone to war and for two years she didn't know if he was alive or dead, because the mail took weeks to arrive. She gave me a little porcelain flower basket that had once belonged to her mother. It's surprisingly light. We went to a store to have it wrapped, and they wrapped it for free, telling me it had to be quite precious because it was so light. It dates back to at least the 1920's. She had all sorts of other items that matched it.

Another trip out to her apartment, this time just me and Sweetie, I occupied myself looking at old photos. And found a stack of old postcards that Grandpa D. had sent to her. It was so amazingly sweet, reading his words. I put them in order, from June 1941 to September 1942, I think. He began each one the same way, "To My Dearest Darling J." He usually signed off expressing his love and faithfullness multiple ways. Including lots of "x"s They didn't even marry until he returned. But the love and teenage infatuation, it was there in every postcard. My favorite was the one where he told her he had an amazing dream the night before. A dream where he returned home to her, "and you know what we were doing." Amazing, to be reminded that these people were once just like us, young and in love and lust.

We went to a pizza buffet one night. And saw the scariest teenager ever. She had the most teased, bleached & fried hair ever. With no effort to put it in order after it was teased. And twice as much pale glitter eye shadow as Christina Aguilera would be caught dead in. She disturbed me so much, I wanted to go over and hit her. Finally, she left, and Sweetie and I giggled.

Little baby N., the one who never met her grandfather, was like a magnet. I finally got a chance to look at her as we were wrapping up dinner at the pizza buffet. Me and Sweetie couldn't keep our eyes off of her. Oddly, Sweetie's Sophomore-in-College brother couldn't either. All the cousins wanted to spend time with her. All the boys. It was quite odd. I didn't know boys liked babies.

Then there was the evening we spent at one of their houses, and my husband called me over to play with the baby. We must have laid on the floor together with the baby for at least a half hour, trying to get her to smile. Her big eyes never straying from the person directly in front of her. Her father has this thing where he likes to voice the thoughts he thinks his daughter is having. Kind of odd, having a conversation with the baby through him, but very sweet and endearing.

That night, I was amazingly sexually frustrated. We hadn't had sex in weeks. Things were not helped by my period. And I bought a trashy romance to read on the plane that I finished up that night. I tried to get close to him, and he said he wanted to keep reading, hurting my feelings. Finally, under the covers in the dark, I attacked him with my mouth. We made out forever. It was divine. He made me cum with his fingers. I was the happiest girl on earth. I wanted to do things to him. I did. Then he made me stop because we couldn't finish. There was no condom. I told him there was a way. He got confused. Finally, I told him that if he really wanted me, we could go without the condom. It seemed so romantic, to have sex for the first time without birth control the evening we played with that little baby. He seemed so happy. I thought it was possible. It wasn't.

We ended up upsetting each other and going to sleep. He told me the next day that he agreed that it would have been romantic. He agreed that being with the baby, it does affect him, helping him to change his mind. But he's still not ready. He's still nervous about his job, despite every time it comes up with someone other than me, he says that things are going quite well. It's frustrating.

I agree though. Despite the fact that it would give us 9 months to put everything in order, we do need to wait until his company can officially "hire" him again. I just wish something definite can happen, because I'm getting really tired of life being on hold.

Other impressions about Illinois: it's flat, and the D's live in the middle of nowhere. I was excited to go to his Grandmother's town just because they had a grocery store, a Hallmark, a drive-thru bank, and a Chinese restaurant. All the buildings are flat, one or two stories, occassionally 3. Driving along the little highways, I kept waiting for tornadoes to pop up in the distance. It looked exactly like the Wizard of Oz shots with the tornado in the background. It did not help that every trip, his mother & Grandmother spent most of the time talking about car accidents and tornadoes. One afternoon, we caught the sunset. For awhile, I thought it was going to be boring. But it was just taking its time. Finally the sunset and the sky became that lovely purpley pink that I adore. Progressing from orange to red at the same time.

And then as we drove back to Chicago at five am, we saw the sunrise. I think it's my first sunrise since I was in highschool. I used to love winter in high school. This one trimester, I think my first class was in biology, the black windows facing the mountains, as the fire came up over them, chasing the purpley pink away. Glorious. This was exactly like that. Except without mountains. It definitely made me nervous not to have mountains anywhere.

But it really was a wonderful trip, despite the funeral, despite the reason. I love his family so much. It's so nice to be accepted, with no fear of bullshit or abuse or anger. I was so happy that I got to go.

But now I'm starving. I'll write about Las Vegas after I get some food in me.

xox

ps: Chicago accents are UGLY. Right off the plane into Chicago, I was starving, so I went to the Pot Belly for a sandwich. And the woman in front of me sounded like she had a nose the size of Nebraska with a nasal problem to boot. Ick. And none of the 3 people who served me there smiled in the least at me, despite me smiling and saying "thank you" to them. They did not say "thank you" or "you're welcome" or smile or anything to acknowledge my attempt at etiquette. Just went on with what they were doing. Makes me think that I wouldn't like spending time in Chicago very much.

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