I have to cite my dear brother Harald...
...because there are times when he manages to say something profound. Of course, most of the rest of the time he mainly talks crap, but I won't cite those things. That would, literally, take up pages. Books, even. He's like me, he talks a lot. I also talk a lot of crap.
History is literally filled with things said by great men and women. Some people thinks citing them make them seem smarter, other's use them as philosophical discussions starting points. Does anyone ever cite themselves, I wonder?
I'm glad that I do not have to cite the blurbs on the movie covers of Mr Chuck Norris's films, because when all you suddenly remember is "Chuck Norris put the FUN back in FUNERAL", you realize that the only thing you can do is cry.
We didn't get to go to Sweden to make one last visit to my maternal grandmother. We got to go to her funeral instead. It was way worse than the one of my paternal grandmother (Fammo for me) years ago, and Micke's maternal grandmother's last winter. Way worse, because I just couldn't stop myself from crying - like all the time - which I managed to do on the other ones. I didn't cry on Fammo's funeral, because I loved her too much, and I couldn't cry much on Micke's grandmother's because people (his relatives) were so stoic in comparison. This time? Literally crying myself to sleep, crying in the car, crying ...well, everywhere.
Micke carried a whole box of tissue paper in his bag for me. They just don't fit in a girl's hand bag.
Did you know, that if you tilt your head backwards, and sort of "open" some canal way back in your nasal cavity, you can get your tears to run down your throat. It's done by sort of starting to swallow, but stopping. Sort of like opening your ear canals when you fly, except you don't blow your nose. I -can- do it, it just takes practice. It's quite handy when you only cry a little, but it takes control. Which I had in short supply during the whole trip.
So, my dear brother said, "I'm going to try to be quiet tomorrow, because I just know that if I start talking I'll just say something horribly wrong and hurt everyones feelings". Since I know what he was -actually- referring to, I couldn't agree more. It's awful when you like a part of your giant pool of relatives better than another. Most of the time, it makes you tired at all the social gatherings. At funerals, it might even mortify you.
Thinking bad things about your relatives then is -so- not the right thing to do.
My gran got to live from 1914 to 2010, and the during the last three years she lived in a home for the elderly.
The eulogy the priest had written about gran was really beautiful. She was really good, and I really do prefer priests who are women. It's not gender discrimination, it's just my personal preference.
Still, no eulogy can by the fact that gran -hated- every single day at that home. Nearly every time she managed to use the phone to call her daughters (my Mom and her four sisters), she wanted them to come and take her away from there.
Anyway, when Mom and her sisters started packing and organizing the things she'd left behind, I got the Bible she'd used while she still had the energy to read. Some of the pages were glued together, because she liked to drink her whiskey in bed while reading, and sometimes she spilled. I'll probably always associate whiskey with my gran, and if anyone gives me nasty comments about that - my- Bible, they'll have a whole other thing coming.
History is literally filled with things said by great men and women. Some people thinks citing them make them seem smarter, other's use them as philosophical discussions starting points. Does anyone ever cite themselves, I wonder?
I'm glad that I do not have to cite the blurbs on the movie covers of Mr Chuck Norris's films, because when all you suddenly remember is "Chuck Norris put the FUN back in FUNERAL", you realize that the only thing you can do is cry.
We didn't get to go to Sweden to make one last visit to my maternal grandmother. We got to go to her funeral instead. It was way worse than the one of my paternal grandmother (Fammo for me) years ago, and Micke's maternal grandmother's last winter. Way worse, because I just couldn't stop myself from crying - like all the time - which I managed to do on the other ones. I didn't cry on Fammo's funeral, because I loved her too much, and I couldn't cry much on Micke's grandmother's because people (his relatives) were so stoic in comparison. This time? Literally crying myself to sleep, crying in the car, crying ...well, everywhere.
Micke carried a whole box of tissue paper in his bag for me. They just don't fit in a girl's hand bag.
Did you know, that if you tilt your head backwards, and sort of "open" some canal way back in your nasal cavity, you can get your tears to run down your throat. It's done by sort of starting to swallow, but stopping. Sort of like opening your ear canals when you fly, except you don't blow your nose. I -can- do it, it just takes practice. It's quite handy when you only cry a little, but it takes control. Which I had in short supply during the whole trip.
So, my dear brother said, "I'm going to try to be quiet tomorrow, because I just know that if I start talking I'll just say something horribly wrong and hurt everyones feelings". Since I know what he was -actually- referring to, I couldn't agree more. It's awful when you like a part of your giant pool of relatives better than another. Most of the time, it makes you tired at all the social gatherings. At funerals, it might even mortify you.
Thinking bad things about your relatives then is -so- not the right thing to do.
My gran got to live from 1914 to 2010, and the during the last three years she lived in a home for the elderly.
The eulogy the priest had written about gran was really beautiful. She was really good, and I really do prefer priests who are women. It's not gender discrimination, it's just my personal preference.
Still, no eulogy can by the fact that gran -hated- every single day at that home. Nearly every time she managed to use the phone to call her daughters (my Mom and her four sisters), she wanted them to come and take her away from there.
Anyway, when Mom and her sisters started packing and organizing the things she'd left behind, I got the Bible she'd used while she still had the energy to read. Some of the pages were glued together, because she liked to drink her whiskey in bed while reading, and sometimes she spilled. I'll probably always associate whiskey with my gran, and if anyone gives me nasty comments about that - my- Bible, they'll have a whole other thing coming.
Vackert skrivet, Linnea. Tack för det. Jag är ledsen att det har varit en svår tid för dig.
ReplyDeleteNär min farmor dog i november (Nana) had hon just hunnit fylla 100 år. Hela släkten samlades för stort kalas och hon närvarade i bra form, skarp och pigg och allt detdär. Sen fick vi samla igen 3 veckor senare för begravningen där bara några få grät. Det känndes lite sorgligt men ändå var en positiv upplevelse. Jag är ledsen att du inte fick se din mommo en sista gång före hennes bortgång. Jag har drömmer om Mor Laura ofta--alltså really ofta. Jag pratar med henne och vi bakar tillsammans. Kanske din mommo kommer och hälsar dig i dina drömmar så att ni kan snacka färdigt.