For some reason I've always liked this passage

One day, we had a discussion in class. They asked me, where did they go? The trees, the salamander, the tropical fish, Edgar, the poppas and mommas, Matthew and Tony, where did they go? And I said, I don’t know, I don’t know. And they said, who knows? And I said, nobody knows. And they said, is death that which gives meaning to life? And I said, no, life is that which gives meaning to life. Then they said, but isn’t death, considered such a fundamental datum, the means by which the taken-for-granted mundanity of the everyday may be transcended in the direction of—
I said, yes, maybe.
They said, we don’t like it.
I said, that’s sound.
They said, it’s a bloody shame!
I said, it is.

  - Donald Barthelme, The School

My Grandfather died last week. I am glad for him, as he had been ready for quite some time to let go, but had yet to receive permission to leave. But, of course it's weird. Death and loss and permanency always are such a mixed bag. Add funerals to the mix and you have - aside from the makings of zany and permissibly edgy dramedies that may or may not be British - a huge conflation of conflicting emotions. For me, I hadn't seen most of my extended family in 5+ years - I have never been astutely filial in family matters and am certainly one of the more mysterious members of my extended family. I guess I just feel my relationships more as matters of individual choice instead of destiny. If I keep in contact with my aunts it's because they're really cool, not because we share genetic material. And while I genuinely like many of the members of my extended family, seeing them only in the context of large family groups leaves me surprisingly cold and overstimulated in typical introvert fashion. Seeing everyone again was an awful lot like what I imagine highschool reunions might be like. More Grosse Point Blank than Romy and Michelle, ultimately: both cool and utterly terrifying to see people I played with at holidays turned old(ish) and popping out li'l 'uns of their own, which seems to be the predominate trend amongst the cousins these days (go figure). Weird to share a deeply emotional moment with people you barely know (and occasionally don't recognize), and yet fitting. We did share those holidays. My aunt Cheryl's voice still evokes an instant waft of Thanksgiving pie spices. It's simply unavoidable. 

My Grandpa and I were never that close, but we were aware of each other in a way that I really appreciated.For all my quiet blushing and fairy princess gowns, I was stubbornly independent on certain points and nothing aggravated me more than people trying to interfere with me doing my thing. Many people were blacklisted from the club that forms Adella's head for minor infractions of the over-involvement type. And when you're that age, *everyone* who doesn't have an aversion to children wants to interfere. It's hard to delineate the difference between leaving somebody to do her thing and just ignoring that person. Human nature equates recognition with interference: it's hard appreciate the existence of something without wanting to cast our seals in the wax. Maybe it's a silent voice screaming "look at me" or a loud voice saying "this is what you should be doing." There is a sort of wuwei beauty to allowing one's regard to demand no quantum change in another individual. Perhaps I poeticize, but I feel there was something pleasant in that presence that was aware but did not observe in the way scientists and boxed cats. It may not have quantified to a deep bond or boundless love - maybe no more than "we're cool with each other"- but, well, I was cool with him. He was quiet and liked to think things through on his own too. He had his own inner world and I had mine and that was... cool, especially in a family full of extroverts.And I'm glad he was around. He was always very present without consciously being so. And - as I'm so happy that they noted in the eulogy - he did always have a little twinkle in his eye that made you know he was engaged.

I appreciate that his funeral happened the day before Easter. Easter, despite being a bit of a wash loot-wise has always struck me as one of the cooler holiday concepts. It's about death and rebirth and life from death and endings becoming beginnings: all those trite sentiments that come so prepackaged in new-age-feel-goodey stickers and shrink wrap that it blanches the mind until you reach those few moments where genuine loss mixes with the realization that you stand at the precipe of infinite possibility (and that metaphor suddenly seems less painfully insipid). And this month - the transition between March and April - has always been a time of transition for me. It's when things end and make way for new things to begin. It's a mixture of mourning and excitement almost inherently. I guess this year will be no different, at least for my grandma and mom and the rest of my family who are juggling their own griefs, gratitudes, and hopes.

So in short: Happy Easter and Bon Voyage Grandpa