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My grandfather died on September 22, 2006.
My dad failed to tell me this.
He called this weekend asking if I could come over to his house, the usual. Of course, I went because I wanted escape from this house, this family, and the inevitable depression that follows it all.
It turns out I was in for the worse. I'm more depressed than I have been for awhile.
I got into the car and the first thing my dad does is hand me a paper, folded in half.
I open it, expecting something good, maybe a car title for a hemi or something (my dad's present hobby, he and I are building a hemi from the very beginning) but what I see inside is NOT good news...
It's an obituary.
I read on.
It turns out that Jim Tom McKenzie died. My grandpa died..
I didn't even know him.
I'm devastated.
He was old, I don't even know how old... in his 80's though. He was fortunate, yet unfortunate. For atleast half of my life he's practically been in a vegetative state, and I wondered how he survived for just that long. What was he holding on to?
I guess I'll never know.
Heh.
Well, I found out that it was our job to bury him, or atleast, the carbon remains of him.
Today I got to joyfully make my way to west Texas, I drove atleast 200 miles.
We had a hell of a time finding the cemetary we were to bury him at, Friendship Cemetary in some town that has a population of maybe 6, and consists of all of 2 houses and a grain elevator.
I carried his urn out to the spot my dad had dug, and my grandmother emptied his ashes out into the cold, dry, unforgiving earth he had come from. From dust to dust, and ashes to ashes. Whatever that phrase is. I'm not sure. The wind blew more and more... It was like the spirits of my dead ancestors were calling to me.
My grandfather was buried next to his parents, Jim Tom McKenzie (the what number? There are so many of them it's eerie) and his mother, Mary E. McKenzie (coincidence that that was once my mother's name? I think not. Eerie, again), and before that the relatives that hailed from Scotland, whom I think were also Jim Tom and Mary McKenzie... It does scare me.
One of the McKenzies buried there lived from April of 1899 (I believe that was the date inscribed) to September of 1899. I don't know who it was, but a four month life is a depressing thing to face, don't you think?
I hate cemetarys where large masses of your own family members are buried. Its... scary. They are your kin, even when they are part of the earth itself and the air you breathe.
The drive back sucked, I drove most of it, and it was hell. Pure hell. I was zoning out badly, too, and nearly wrecked the poor Jeep (who has a carbon trail, whatever that is, and it's screwing with the spark plugs, I don't know anything about cars, but it scared me. I hate not knowing anything) into a ditch.
Curse my dad, I told him why I wouldn't drive in the lane on the right side.
Anyways, I won't hand you any more gruesome details, it was just a depressing weekend for me, and I'm not very happy right now.
My family doesn't understand, even though I'm sure they've witnessed death.
Maybe they think the deaths of their own parents, which are creeping nearer and nearer by the hour, are more depressing. Even if they haven't occurred yet.
But I'm very empathetic and I may be suffering even more than them in the end.
Who knows.
Oh well...
Please do read the journal entry before this, as well.
It's wonderous. Thanks. heart
 Hoshi Okami · Mon Oct 02, 2006 @ 03:44am · 1 Comments |
