My Granddad Bunn is 94. On September 21st, he’ll be a whopping 95 years old. The thing is, he’s very sick and my family isn’t quite sure he’s going to make it to his birthday. When I was talking to my mom earlier, she mentioned that she’d talked to my Auntie Bunda and they were planning on having the funeral service sooner rather than later. I mentioned to my mom that, “Well, Granddad has to die first.” She giggled. That’s what we do. We use humor to make life a little less serious now and again. But then I came up with an idea – what if we held the funeral when Granddad was still alive. Everyone wants a Tom Sawyer funeral. It’s the only way you can tell if people really care about you anyway: what will they say when you’re dead? My mom laughed.
When I texted my aunt later on, I wrote that I’d felt the earth shake when she and my dad had a real hug – there has been tension and fighting for years. But somehow, as my Granddad is living his last few days, he’s bringing my family together again. It’s strange how that happens. I claim that it’s because my Grandma would be mad if he showed up in the afterlife and the kids were still fighting. The important thing, though, is that they’re getting along and taking care of the family patriarch for the last few days and weeks of his life. It makes me hopeful. I think the family will stick together, which is something I’ve wondered about for quite a while.
I realize that this post is a bit light-hearted and perhaps to some may seem insensitive considering my grandfather is slowly passing. But the thing is, that old duffer wouldn’t want us all to mourn him forever or build a shrine of all his old junk. I think he’d actually prefer to go to his own funeral, listen to our stories (and correct what we misremembered), and then head off on his way.
Life is a strange thing. Death is even stranger. I’m glad I’m doing the first part rather than the last, but I sure don’t understand either right now.
Tata for now.