Grands

Unicorn In a Dress by Julianna

One week ago today, at about this time, my fabulous niece Helen, her husband John and two of their three amazing kiddles, my GRANDnieces, were at the hotel bar -- adults decompressing and wee ones zooming about. This was after the wakes, the two viewings for my mother, Helen’s grandmother and Crysta, Madison and Juliana’s great grandmother.

For me the wakes had been a marathon of good behavior -- one I was hard pressed to finish. I’m not the most socially ept human to start with plus, fer fuck’s sake, mia madre just joined the Seraphim Choir and Marching Band.

It was a major plus, a big ass gold star for my forehead, that I was able to keep myself from insulting and berating my fellow mourners generally, specifically and to their faces. We all experience/live through grief differently. My first reaction is always anger. I’m angry that she’s gone. I’m angry at myself for not being able to make my mother all better and live forever. I’m angry that Lucy had to experience any pain EVER in this life. I’m just an angry old bee.

Hearts and Angels by Julianna

That and it rankled me nine ways to Christmas that there were folks in attendance displaying astounding levels of damp morosity who, seemingly, expected me to ease their trauma or join them in wailing concertos.

Christ almighty on pane casareccia Barese -- y’all are there to HELP the family, n'est–ce pas? If you’re uncontrollably distraught, PLEASE muthafuckas, don’t go to the wake and assuredly, don’t go with the expectation that the famiglia is there to make you feel better. We’re all keeping it together with silk floss, spit and paperclips. There’s NO room to support, to buoy, strangers.

So, there we were, afterwards, at the bar of the worst Holiday Inn I’ve ever stayed in. Damp carpeting in the room, no wi fi, front desk help who didn’t have a clear concept of what constitutes winning customer service and a bar that was probably fresh, happening and inviting back in the...OK, never. Clearly no one in the joint had ever seen any of the John Cleese vids.

In any case, seven year old Madison and four year old Julianna were buzzing around like the overheated atomic particles they are. They came to rest-ish and were showing me this cute drawing program that Helen has on her phone. Having a grand time making neon abstracts, Juliana wanted me to try. It was a simple program. I should’ve been able to make cute doggy and kitten pics for them but NOOOOO. I can muck about successfully in Illustrator and PhotoShop but this phone app? Forget it.

How embarrassing and cliche is it that my four year old grandniece had to sort out and reboot for me not once, not twice but FOUR different times.


I made my way back up to the calm, dimly lit room I was sharing with 18 year old Crysta. She offered me a hit off her jay which felt utterly comforting and totally bizarre. Kind of like the first time I split a beer with my grandfather.