I've always detested the saying "Blood is thicker than water." In my life, it's far from true. January 17, 2018, my paternal grandfather Floyd Needles died.
Tomorrow is his funeral. I've been debating whether or not to go. At fourteen Floyd gave me fifty dollars and told me he never wanted to see me again. I took him at his word.
Now that he's dead, do I act like I actually know the man? He collected playboys and penthouses. He smoked cigars, drank a glass of whiskey or something like it every night and he made good shakes, that's the summation of my knowledge.
I understand why he wanted me to "get lost." I don't blame him for it. It makes sense. When I pressed charges on someone he loved, he couldn't believe the person capable.
Still going to his funeral feels out of place. It would be nice to go and hear stories of who he was, learn new things about him, but on the same note, I will be alone there. It will be two hours that feel like endless torture as I try to connect with people I have no connection to.
I have little association with my family these days. To the extent I knew when my closest sister contacted me on a day that wasn't a major holiday, there could only be one reason for it, someone was dead.
When blood is put into water, water dissolves the blood breaking it apart at the molecular level. My friends have been dear, solid, accepting. Their love washed away the tears of loss and loneliness. They've let me stay on their couches when my life fell apart, they've built me up after the world tore me down.
If it weren't for them I would have gone down hopeless roads of darkness from which there is no easy way back from.
Much of my life was spent building up a foundation of friendships on which I could depend because I knew from a young age, whatever blood my family shared corroded easily.
At sixteen I was pushed out into the world. My dad who could barely take care of himself, helped when and where he could. Unlike me, he truly believed in family. He'd want me to go to his father's funeral.
My dad did his best to stop the disintegration of my sisters and myself, but when he died and no one wanted to spend any time together I knew our relationships were over.
I should be sad but the death of those relationships didn't happen suddenly but over decades. In a way, it was a relief to no longer have to try to keep alive things that were long ago declared brain dead and put on life support.
Now, I will be seeing aunts, cousins, and uncles, whose titles are meaningless. I've at times tried to get back in contact with them but they had their own lives and my attempts were probably lost in the fray and chaos if not deliberately ignored.
I've seen their linkedin accomplishments, profile pages, etc, but they are strangers to me and my life has moved away from theirs to where I see no common reflection in the pools of experience.
I am verbose, open, lacking in tact or artifice. They are pictures of perfect families to me and little else.
Yet despite myself, I keep hoping for some familial connection in my life. Since my divorce, my mother and I have truly bonded but I am greedy and wish for more.
Tomorrow again I will try, it is inevitable I will fail, but I will try. Life is not about succeeding, but in walking across the stones of failure to find a beautiful destination.
Be bold dear ones. No matter how dark the world may appear, the sun is always just a few hours away.
Tomorrow is his funeral. I've been debating whether or not to go. At fourteen Floyd gave me fifty dollars and told me he never wanted to see me again. I took him at his word.
Now that he's dead, do I act like I actually know the man? He collected playboys and penthouses. He smoked cigars, drank a glass of whiskey or something like it every night and he made good shakes, that's the summation of my knowledge.
I understand why he wanted me to "get lost." I don't blame him for it. It makes sense. When I pressed charges on someone he loved, he couldn't believe the person capable.
Still going to his funeral feels out of place. It would be nice to go and hear stories of who he was, learn new things about him, but on the same note, I will be alone there. It will be two hours that feel like endless torture as I try to connect with people I have no connection to.
I have little association with my family these days. To the extent I knew when my closest sister contacted me on a day that wasn't a major holiday, there could only be one reason for it, someone was dead.
When blood is put into water, water dissolves the blood breaking it apart at the molecular level. My friends have been dear, solid, accepting. Their love washed away the tears of loss and loneliness. They've let me stay on their couches when my life fell apart, they've built me up after the world tore me down.
If it weren't for them I would have gone down hopeless roads of darkness from which there is no easy way back from.
Much of my life was spent building up a foundation of friendships on which I could depend because I knew from a young age, whatever blood my family shared corroded easily.
At sixteen I was pushed out into the world. My dad who could barely take care of himself, helped when and where he could. Unlike me, he truly believed in family. He'd want me to go to his father's funeral.
My dad did his best to stop the disintegration of my sisters and myself, but when he died and no one wanted to spend any time together I knew our relationships were over.
I should be sad but the death of those relationships didn't happen suddenly but over decades. In a way, it was a relief to no longer have to try to keep alive things that were long ago declared brain dead and put on life support.
Now, I will be seeing aunts, cousins, and uncles, whose titles are meaningless. I've at times tried to get back in contact with them but they had their own lives and my attempts were probably lost in the fray and chaos if not deliberately ignored.
I've seen their linkedin accomplishments, profile pages, etc, but they are strangers to me and my life has moved away from theirs to where I see no common reflection in the pools of experience.
I am verbose, open, lacking in tact or artifice. They are pictures of perfect families to me and little else.
Yet despite myself, I keep hoping for some familial connection in my life. Since my divorce, my mother and I have truly bonded but I am greedy and wish for more.
Tomorrow again I will try, it is inevitable I will fail, but I will try. Life is not about succeeding, but in walking across the stones of failure to find a beautiful destination.
Be bold dear ones. No matter how dark the world may appear, the sun is always just a few hours away.
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