When I figure it out I will let you know. It seems that we are wired to deal with all the excitement in our life a certain way. While some of it is certainly genetic, the old "fight or flight" manifestation. Some of it is as a result of our programming.
For example, recently my brother and I traveled north to attend the internment of my uncle, my father's brother. I won't go into all the gritty details but I will say that my uncle had an undiagnosed mental illness that most of my family wrote off as him "just being Joe". His death certificate said he died of an accidental overdose of a drug that is used to treat bi-polar disorder and schizophrenia. As for me, I tried to remember a single happy memory of this man. I hadn't seen him since 1992 and a few years after my grandfather died, he just decided he was going to go live on the beaches in Hawaii and he did just that. Literally took a bus to Syracuse and bought a plane ticket to Hawaii. No one knew where he was until my father received a phone call from a social worker in Hawaii saying that he had been found living on the beach. My uncle claimed he had no family left, everyone was dead. The reality was he had a brother and a set of twin sisters.
When I found out that my uncle had passed away, I tried to remember a single happy memory of the man. I could not. I was chubby as a child and he never let me forget it. Forget playing a game of checkers with him, he'd beat the pants off you every time and then call you stupid and a loser if you couldn't beat him. for the record, I never did and to this day I hate playing checkers. He was an avid fisherman and my brother and sister were usually asked to help him catch minnows with his big walking net. I was never asked because I was "fatso" and therefore unable to hold a net. No...not a single good memory of this man.
Before the funeral my father outlined what he was going to do for the service. It was a very pleasant, simple service. It was then that I told my father that I had no happy memories of my uncle and that my sole purpose for being there that weekend was to offer him emotional support. (I'm not a complete bitch ya know!) He was my father's brother and I know that he loved him dearly and I know that he was deeply saddened by my uncle's passing.
Those who were in attendance were given an opportunity to share memories of him. My sister wrote a lovely poem about some of the things he used to do, my brother spoke about how important it was that we live our lives to the fullest since we just never knew when it would all end. One of the twin aunts said a prayer and my father read from the Book of Common Prayers and then we all joined in to say the Lord's Prayer. After the service, I went back to my parents place and put out the beverages and food for the wake.
As an adult, I can look back and see that my uncle was mentally ill. Unfortunately, you don't have that luxury when you are a child. At my uncle's funeral, I cut off a piece of a lovely plant that was growing on my grandparents grave and told my uncle that I understood now why he was such an asshole all those years. I was saddened that he had not been able to get the mental health he needed and that I knew that he was in the grips of mental illness. Some of our interactions as a child created the insecure little girl who grew in to an insecure woman.
I forgave him all that but letting go and forgetting are something that I don't think will happen for a long time.
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