Saturday, August 2, 2014


it's my grandmother's birthday today. Or it would be, if she were still alive. I suppose we just change the grammar, not the vocabulary. It would have been her ninety-seventh birthday today.

I haven't heard from my father since the funeral. I've emailed him, but he didn't respond. I texted him this morning, asking if he was home, if he'd like us to come out and have some cake - I didn't mention the birthday, he loathes sentimentalism like marking anniversaries. Hours later, I get a text back saying 'Croquet has started.'

So that would be a no.

It's pathetic that I find this upsetting. Why do I keep expecting or hoping for some semblance of family when there isn't any? I should have just got in touch with the cousins... perhaps organised something.

I have no good way to end this post. 


Ms. Moon said...

I am most grateful that I came to a place of mostly peace about the fact that my mother was never, ever going to be the mother I needed or wanted before she died. That helped me so much.
It's very sad but there just came a moment when I was done. And then...she died.
I will think of your grandmother for you. I will be grateful for her life.

Jo said...

I'm so glad for you too, Mary. A friend whose mother was very ill said she went to therapy about their relationship for the same reason - so that she could be done with the difficult stuff by the time she died. Perhaps this is one kindness of people living into old age - it gives people time to deal with it all before they go.