"i dont know why but i always feel as if on his anniversay i should be staying home, alone and reminiscing on past memories and then when i dont, i always end up feeling guilty about it. i feel guilty that somehow im being a bad daughter and because for the other 364 days of the year, i dont really think about it or it doesnt really play a big part of my daily life and that for just one day, just 24 hours, i should pay my proper respects."Since I was actually in San Diego, I accompanied my mom to the memorial park. We packed up a plastic trash bin full of flowers and headed over there as it rained slightly. Generally speaking, I don't visit the grave because it's not a place that speaks to me of my dad. Instead, I mostly go when prompted and even then I'm slightly resistant. It's not because it's hard or difficult, but rather because the physical resting place doesn't hold much meaning for me.
I used to imagine going there by myself and sitting there in the nice grass, thinking deep thoughts and maybe clearing my head or heart or something. It doesn't work like that. Something seems deeply artificial to me about going to a cemetery by myself, or with anyone actually. It's hard to overlook the gardeners, the obvious economic benefit of the tiny plots, and the general sense that this is less a place for resting than a place to be put away.
When we go, my mom is always insistent on cleaning the memorial plaque and removing the dirt, twigs, and debris. My paternal grandmother is buried a few rows up and to the left of my dad and it's usually George and my job to tend to her plaque and to fill her flower pot. I'm ready to leave as soon as we dump the flowers off but my mom usually will gather us together for a moment or two of silence and "talking."
I'm not even sure if anyone is talking to my dad except for my mom. I dunno, do you talk to him George? I'd bet neither one of us does. In this I feel like we're the same -- even in if nearly everything else we're opposites. One of the first inklings for me that we may be more alike than different was in the seemingly emotionless way we both dealt with my dad's sudden departure.
I don't think either of us really cried, at least in front of each other. Actually, I think I did, maybe at his Chinese funeral. Regardless, both of us were more similar in our non-reaction than our obvious grief. Which surprised me because I'd expected her to be a crying mess. Shows what I know.
I think the problem I have with a day of remembrance or a day of grief or mourning or whatnot is the whole ritualization of it. In time it starts to lose its meaning and the actions come to mean less and less. By doing such and such in this or that order, you preserve the moment but lose the meaning. At least that's the way it feels. I've never asked any of my other friends who have lost parents if they feel similarly. I should I guess, because I feel like both of us feel a bit abnormal, whereas it might very well be perfectly normal to be cooking bok choy at home and going house dancing at night in remembrance.
1 comments:
i have so much to say about this, but i'll make it short and say i completely agree. i'm glad there are cemetaries for people for whom (who?) ritual is important and soothing. but for me, i find it devastating to simplify someone into such a quiet place. it just feels fake to me, like i'm playing a role. i don't need a particular day to be sad; sad comes and goes, you can't schedule it.
i would like to think people prefer to be remembered in loving, fun ways, and ways that are more reflective of how they lived?
that said, the Persian peeps are big on mourning as a social gathering. food food food. we're not joking when we say we'll do anything for food.
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