Growing up

Saturday I pulled myself out of bed at 6:15 to get ready for Westy's grandpa's funeral in Winchester, Virginia. It was a long drive, and there were four of us crammed in the back of Jamie's car, but we were happy to be together, and I felt oddly content as the hills rolled by us.

The church was catholic, and had beautiful stained glass windows and a cathedral ceiling. I was reminded of my own grandpa's funeral, and the things I missed about him. Hearing stories from Westy's mother and sisters about their "Pop" made me think about the way Grandpa laughed, and winked, and stood in the lawn smoking.

Grief is strange, and I rarely feel it now. I remember expecting to experience a couple weeks of intense pain, and being surprised by the way it lingered, and by the tears that would well up in my eyes unexpectedly because of a smell, or the way a blade of grass trembled in the evening sun. Being away from home forces me to push those moments away, because they're just too difficult to bear alone. On Saturday I let myself mourn a little bit again though, and it felt nice to miss him.

It made me remember how  I used to adore him, and my other grandparents, and how things are more complicated now. The way I interact with Grandma and Gamma is so different from how I interacted with them as a child, when spending time with them was such a treat. As I've gotten older I've had to grow accustomed to seeing them as real people instead of just grandmothers- now my time with them is permeated by all our imperfections.I wish I could somehow get back to my original, innocent perception of them, even if that seems a little dehumanizing. Or maybe I wish I could just accept Grandma and Gamma as I see them now, without it being a struggle to be kind. I want to to learn to miss them, so that when I come home I can love them as I should.