In january of 2016, when I was 11, 'grandpa George', my great grandfather, died. I recall hearing the news and it didn't particularly disturb me. After all, my great grandmother on my dad's side had died when I was around 4 years old. And, of course, in retrospect he had dementia for a long time. As an 11 year old I didn't know what that word was or that it implied he was on his way out, all I knew was he frequently forgot who my mother and I were. I recall a moment where we (my mother, my grandmother, and I) walked in and he and grandma Ruth (his wife, my great grandmother) were there watching the TV, as they always did. They turned it off for us of course, and grandpa George didn't recognize any of us but did still recognize grandma Ruth who told him that we were family. Eventually he recognized my grandmother but not my mother or me. This memory feels closer than the memory of grandpa George's funeral, but I know logically it must not be. We would go over to their house for christmas. Our family's jewish but the rest of my mother's side is christian, so we celebrated with them. I remember at one point they lived in the barn that was across the river from my grandparents' house but they built a new house, similarly close but on the opposite side. Grandma Ruth still lived in that house until recently, we went to see her the summer before I left for university, and she was able to hold a conversation for a couple sentences but would end up looping eventually. She's still alive to this day in fact, but my understanding is she's in a care home. Anyway, I feel as though my mother gave the impression that she wasn't exactly distraught over grandpa George's death. Maybe this is me misreading the situation but the vibe I got was that he was a crazy old catholic who told my mom she'd be going to hell for everything. It could be that that's a part of why I felt guilty about grieving. My grief is partially about him, yes. I was just getting to the age where I was interested in all the stories the older people around me had to tell. I was young though and didn't quite understand certain historical chronologies - I remember calling grandpa George and asking him about what it was like on the Oregon Trail. I remember he got a laugh out of that one. But had I had a slightly better understanding of history I would have loved to ask him about his time in the army during the second world war, or about his childhood, or about what I'm sure would have been the numerous life experiences someone his age would have had. But my grief is also largely independent of him. Seeing someone I had talked to before dead in a casket as an 11 year old definitely made a lasting impression. So did the ear-piercingly loud 'Amazing Grace' on the bagpipes. I listened to it again recently. It felt like I had been transported back 9 years to the funeral service. To quote my journal from 2 days ago now:
What did affect me was the funeral. I remember some paper at the entrance, I'm not sure if we were signing our names or if it was some memorandum or something else, but I do feel as though I remember 'in memory of'. I can't remember if that was when it hit me or if that was the moment before it hit me. I think I started crying upon seeing it. It was an open casket funeral. I saw him in there. Lifeless. All dressed up. I saw what was once a living, breathing human being, someone I was related to, someone I had talked to, though had been a little afraid of, lying dead in the casket. I can't remember if I cried at the entrance but I definitely cried then, as I do now. I can't remember the chronology but at some point I remember excusing myself to the bathroom to cry. I remember sitting on the couch while not crying and being told it was the crying couch, though that has more to do with my anxieties than the moment itself. I also couldn't possibly have known that, with it being the first funeral I remembered. I remember the church service. Specifically the bagpipes. Those burned into my mind. It must have been the first time I heard bagpipes because I now forever associate it with that service. They were ear-piercingly loud. ... I remember a school assembly where they played the bagpipes to the tune of amazing grace. I broke into tears and luckily the people I was next to were kind enough to guide me to the councillor's office. I don't even remember what happened in that office. I remember saying that at my great grandfather's funeral they played those bagpipes but nothing else. I tried listening to amazing grace on the bagpipe just now. I had listened to a vocal version and my mood had been somber, but I can't make it through a full video of the bagpipes. Even now. Nine years later. I tense up, I start ugly crying. My body tries to scream but nothing comes out. I don't know how to handle such a deep, visceral pain. I don't know how to handle it.