Shellshocked

I'm back at work today, and I'm starting to become normal again, although it's taken several hours and a good long walk. Most of you didn't know that I've been away, and the rest of you didn't know I was back. It's hard to talk about it, so I haven't much. But now that I'm returning to normal, I guess I ought.

My grandmother died last week. I was able to go home and see her before she passed away, and although "glad" isn't the right word for it, I'm glad I was there for a few days and had a chance to say goodbye. We were there when she died. We were telling stories and laughing, had been for awhile. So much of those last few days were silence or sadness or both, periodically interspersed with normal conversation among relatives and friends who love each other but don't see each other nearly enough. But this conversation. This was different somehow, and maybe it's just hindsight, but I remember thinking as we were talking and laughing and telling stories, that it was time, now that we were acting like our family typically acts, it was time. My sister Mary noticed first that Mimi's heartrate was dropping. My uncle Peter went to get my Aunt Cathey. All of Mimi's children were there, and some grandchildren. And she let go.

It shouldn't be surprising, but it is, how very attached I am to my grandmother. She was always there when we were growing up. I saw her every day at school (she was the secretary), and on the weekends. Her name was Catherine, but her brothers and sisters called her Katie. When I was in first grade and cut the top of my finger off in a freak bleacher accident during recess, Mimi took care of me in the office until my parents were able to get me to the doctor. When Aunt Cathey came to visit, Mary and I would go to Mimi's house and we'd all make snickerdoodles. We played in the leaves in Mimi's backyard, and there was this small indentation in the yard that we used to pretend was a swimming pool, and there was a tree that was way too tall to climb, but after I'd grown up a bit I realized that it's actually a rather small tree. The first time I climbed it was right after Mimi gave me a glass of cranberry juice, and I was convinced for a long time after that that cranberry juice contained some magical property that could give a burst of strength. Mimi has told me millions of times about how I told her when I was little that "my bwothew knows evewything." It used to annoy me when she'd tell that story. Later on, not so much. It was just one of those things--see Mimi, hear that story.

Mom said on Saturday that she felt she'd travelled through several universes. I agree. For one thing, there's sadness and hospital and watching her leave and God, being thankful that her last days were so peaceful, but God missing her all the same. Then there was this surreal feeling of stepping into a past I can only somewhat remember, and all these names and faces that are familiar but that I can't quite place, and relatives and friends I haven't seen in years, and they only recognized me about as much as I recognized them. I felt like the past was on the tip of my tongue... just out of my reach even though it was right in front of me. I don't remember broad strokes of life, but then there are these details--feelings and smells and the way this one wall looked one time when I dusted the erasers against it--things that tell me it is true that the life I lead inside my head is probably very different than the life others see, because what it is that seems important enough to pay attention to at the time, and important enough to remember, so often seems different than the things other people notice.

I said I was tired yesterday when my roommate John asked me if I was shellshocked, but I think he was right. I told my community members that if anyone asked, I wasn't home yet. I hid in the house yesterday and watched a lot of TV. Then this morning, I just showed up for work. It's bizarre to be back in Chicago, and I wasn't ready for it yesterday. Had I been thinking, I would have sent Michael back alone so he could get back to work, and then waited a couple days more myself. But I haven't really been thinking straight. Chicago and present life are strange things after this past week in Memphis and childhood. And the funeral is over and I've come home, but I still miss my grandmother. Another thing that should not be surprising, but it is. Fr. Todd tells me that's normal. But it doesn't feel normal. It feels like I missed something, or misplaced something.

I don't know. I'm rambling at this point. But I'm back, if anyone needs me.