The next morning was no different than any other, when it came to my grandmother. She was a lady of 'old school' thought. We wake up, we eat, we do dishes, we get ready and then it starts all over.
My impression of my Maine relatives is all they ever did was eat, do dishes, and cook.
I knew then , as I sat at her tiny table watching her move about the kitchen, she was just keeping herself busy. Presently able to attribute my neurotic tendencies and relate to hers.
She looked so tiny to me. Looking back now, I would have to say that eating disorders run in my family.
Although the older females were always trying to get us youngsters to eat. NONSTOP...and then turn around and say, "Gerald, Jodi, is a bit chubby eh?"
I would cringe. Quietly inside. Smiling outside.
By today's ethical standards(snark), my generation of parents would either let it slide or bit some one's head off for even saying it.
It was how it was, I came to accept it.

There was a lot to do this morning, as my father and his brothers were off with my grandmother to finalize funeral arrangements.
My mother went visiting with her family. I, I was sent off to a cousin's house.

This is blur, not so much detail. But just nuances. ZZ TOP; "Tush", my cousin played it over and over. My little cousins running amok, getting us tweens in trouble.
People. Oh the People. I have a rather large extended family. If you are from Northern Maine, and an old French family? You have a rather large family.
Cousins that were my mother's age, aunts and uncles, who loved picking on me and getting me to giggle.
My grandmother, in and out for the day.
Come evening I was to walk down to her house, to have dinner with the family.
Frazzled is the only word that comes to mind.
Here is where the world changed for me.
I found myself staring at my Grandmother. Trying to find a connection. To my finger on differences. More so what we held in common besides my father.
My mind, even then, would whir. My attempts at making everything logical, drove me.
Things had to make sense. Things needed justification.
I looked about the table, at my uncles, pausing at each. Then my aunts, studying their faces. Then my mouth would open and the questions would spill.
I didnt have much time with these people. History. I needed it. I wanted, no I needed to know everything about them. They were "FAMILY"...But there were questions never to be uttered.
That night as I lay in bed, one question still banged in my skull.
The wake, the funeral. My first experience with seeing a person in repose. That was a clear memory. Never, ever would that be me. Not for all to see.
I stood in line to kneel at my grandfather's casket, nervous.
Yet not sad.
My cousins rushed passed, crying or eyes red and swollen.
I understood the premise of death.
I just had nothing inside me to let go.

That evening as we sat once again, at the table, all my father's brothers and their wives. Discussing "Danny"(grandfather) and funny stories. Stories that made everyone laugh and then cry.
A voice came from the corner of the kitchen,"How come my father is brothers with them and they have different last names? Why am I an O and they are all T.'s?", the room fell silent and all eyes turned. TO me! Oh my it was my voice that said that. Out loud!
It was a time when one says to themselves,"did I just say that?" I did.
Nary a word spoken, but a hard pinch came to me from under the table.
I could only look at her with a "wha" glance.
My Aunt B spoke up and then it all came out.
The Secret.
The words that shouldn't have to be spoken. And yet Aunt B felt I, and my brothers had a right to know.

Labels: A Chapter in My Life, Blizzard of 78, death, Maine, Non-Fiction, Writing