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Ithad been a particularly cold Easter when my grandfather first expressed his distainof Church services to me.We had beenstanding in my aunt’s kitchen, a particularly lavish affair of a room,awkwardly glancing at each other.That’swhen he blurted it out.
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“YourGrandmother made me go to Church this morning.Had an Asian priest.What type ofCatholic priest is Asian?I couldn’tunderstand a damn word he said.”Icouldn’t help but laugh.I’m sure thereare more than a few people that will point out how discriminatory he was being,or how awful of a comment it was – but there, in that moment, it was fuckinghilarious.There we were, surrounded byour prim and proper family, a whole salmon, a pitcher of sangria and anassortment of side dishes, and there was Grandpa, spouting off about Asianpriests and sermons.He was really theonly family member on that side that ever understood me, understood what mademe tick and think and wonder.The restof the family would be talking about the latest pop star, but Grandpa and Iwould be tucked away at a table, talking about the mating rituals of the bonobochimpanzee.
Weburied Grandpa last Thursday.My motherand her sisters (Grandpa had 6 girls, despite his best efforts to have a son)did their best to console my grandmother – the woman who had been married to mygrandfather for 64 years.They had metwhen she was 16.He had asked her tomarry him…and she had said no.Threetimes.I guess the fourth time was thelucky one, because when she was 20 they married and got right to work on havingchildren.My grandmother never had anyproblem telling my grandfather where to go and what to do with hisopinions.He would have done anythingfor her – would have made anything happen for her.Now she struggles.
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AsI sat in an unfamiliar church surrounded by family – the people who I’msupposed to be the closest to and yet seem the farthest away from, I couldn’thelp but think about how much Grandpa would have hated it.He wouldn’t have wanted a big fancy ceremonyand a bunch of flowers and people crying over him.He would have wanted a pint and a footballgame to watch.Funerals are for theliving.
Andthere I was contemplating all of this when the priest took the pulpit.
Hewas Asian.And very difficult tounderstand.God does have a sense ofhumor.
Ishould be saddened by Grandpa’s passing – and I am, in a way.I am saddened that my grandmother – a strongwoman – has been reduced to hiding in her house and barely eating.I am saddened that my mother is unsure how tocope with this tragedy, and that my aunts and their husbands are equallyconfused.I am saddened by the sufferingthat my grandfather endured in the months before his death due to the cancerthat wracked his body - that completely decimated him to the point where hetold the doctors to sedate him until he died.I am saddened by that.
ButI am joyful that he is no longer in pain.I am joyful that he was able to find some control over how and when hewent, despite being riddled with a disease that tragically claims so very manylives.
Andso, I refuse to say goodbye to my grandfather.For me, this is simply a parting of ways until I can join him (hopefullynot for a very many years).