Friday Mourning

On this day one year ago, my grandfather passed away. And since our family just couldn’t get enough of crying, a special dinner had been arranged to pay tribute to THE man.

I’ve always idolized the guy. There was even a point when I was hell-bent on becoming a lawyer just as he was. The man was so good he eventually became a judge – and from the stories I heard, a very good one.

He always had power – on and off the court house. People respected him. He had been labeled as a man of few words. But whenever he spoke, everybody listened. He was the man I wanted to be. And in some ways, I did become like him. For he is my father’s father just as I am my father’s son.

Even days before he left, he had taught me things – important ones at that. The last lesson he taught me, as I realize now, would the most important. On what that lesson might be is just too personal to tell – not to mention too mushy for my taste.

I’ve always said that people should be happy on mornings. I mean that’s why they’re called “mornings” not “mournings”. I’m gonna have to stop believing in that, at least for today. Maybe I could even go and visit his grave if I have time.

Death really took a toll on us this year. Why can’t death knock on somebody else’s door for a change?

Do I miss my father and grandfather? Yes. It’s hard losing both of them in less than a year. And I can only imagine how hard all this is for my grandmother. Am I done crying? No. Will I be alright? I’ll be just fine. Time eventually heals everyone – assuming time doesn’t fuck that one up.

On a related note, why do people feel the need to “celebrate” someone’s death anniversary? What’s there to celebrate? Are we happy that the “celebrant” died? I get celebrating one’s life and accomplishments. “Celebrating” death anniversaries however is completely different and inappropriate.

Oh and speaking of celebrations, my grandfather died two days before his birthday. So during his wake last year, my brilliant aunts gathered all the grandchildren and had us sing Happy Birthday in front of his coffin – and if I remember correctly this was all done complete with cake and candles.

Me, being the eldest of the grandchildren present, did the most mature thing – I laughed while everyone sang. Why? Because it’s stupid. If my grandfather was every little bit like me, he would have bitch-slapped everyone there. Kids singing him Happy Birthday may be cute, but coming from a then 23-year-old man, not so much. And there’s also my issues with parenting but I won’t go into that.

If they do the whole birthday thing again today, I’m walking out. No worries, I’m sure my grandfather would understand.