Paris: Chapter 2- Still in mourning.

To recap from Part 1…

I’m sitting on the stairs, taking all of this in, when I hear the door start to open. My mom was back. Remember when I said telling me was a mistake?This is why. My mom looked at me, and like most moms, realized IMMEDIATELY something was wrong. I told her that Dad called and she was to call him, but she continued to ask me what was wrong. I can’t imagine the look on my face which led to her persistence. I was a sheltered eighteen year old kid who never dealt with death before–not with anyone so close. I had no guide to go by. So with her coat still on, and shopping bags in hand, I told her that her sister, Aunt C, died.

Unfortunately, it was not the only death in the family that week…

To be honest, everything after I told my mom that Aunt C. had died was a blur. I slept. I slept a LOT. When I’m severely stressed, my body takes the view that if I’m asleep, I don’t have to deal with my stressors. I slept 10-12 hours a day during that time. The only time I slept that much after was when I was teaching. It was a big sign that teaching wasn’t for me. I still don’t know why it wasn’t for me. Maybe because I didn’t have the fire in the belly for it? I couldn’t say. Anyway, I’m digressing.

My paternal grandmother had been ill, but I wasn’t told how ill she was. She lived in Barbados. I had a nickname for her, and we close as we could be living in different countries. Her Bajan accent was strong, and on special holidays or on birthdays, we talked. Was she old? No. Well, maybe to someone who was 18, perhaps. However, as I reach comfortably into middle age, I don’t think so.

So, there was a phone call. She died 24 hours after Aunt C. Death, day, Death. The Year of our Lord 1990 was starting off horribly, more horribly than I could imagine. I was eighteen and sheltered.

Ugh…that week. That horrible, grief-filled week. I remember asking if I was going to the viewing. I wasn’t allowed, but was informed that hundreds of people showed up for Aunt C. She was loved by many people at work, and in her church.

Then it was time for the funeral. I remember looking out the window, and seeing a black limousine to take us to the church. I had a new suit–black, as I never was one for wearing suits and such. But life forces you to make different choices. It was January, and it was lightly snowing. I was all cried out by this time.

When we got to the church, there was an open casket. I know what they say…it forces people to accept the death, it makes it real for them. I knew she was dead. It didn’t need to be any more realistic for me. My uncle though…he cried after he saw her. Seeing a loved one in a coffin…sorry, casket can do something to you.

The service was nice, and we drove to Mt. Pleasant Cemetery in Toronto. There are two things which will produce tears in everyone except those with the coldest hearts. One is seeing your loved on in an open casket. The other is realizing that said coffin is going to be lowered into the ground and covered with dirt. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Several of my family members who were stoic at the church became emotional at this point. I had no tears left.

I started second semester at school…with my trip to Paris looming three months later.

Part 3 coming soon.