Funerals and stasis

Funerals are odd things. You can call them whatever you'd like: Memorial Service, Celebration of Life, etc. But let's be honest, it's a funeral. What strikes me about these services is how much editor bias exists. People love to put dead people on a pedestal. Unless they were an axe murderer, even the most common of people become extraordinary at their funeral.

Now, in this case, Lou was extraordinary. Truly she was; but even we did careful editing at her service. Two of the girls who spoke wanted to tell a story where she said a bad word, but we decided against it. I chose a song to be sung that she did quite like, but was it still her favorite, probably not. And now people refer to it as "Emmy's song." It is weird to capture the life of an 11 year old in one afternoon.

Eleven year old girls, more than probably any other group, change their likes and dislikes and personalities and clothes in an instant. Yes on the day she died she liked Hello Kitty and skulls and crossbones and the colors pink and orange and Logan but, if she had lived, it is clear that by today she would have moved on. Certainly there are things about her personality that were never going to change, she loved to make, to create, to experiment. She was friendly and kind and craved being the center of attention (the poor kid always thought she was getting the shaft, I guess she was right).

It is hard to freeze an 11 year old in time. Painful in fact. I try to guess what she would like now, what song would be her favorite, if she would be into peace signs like her sister. Even more painful is the fact that her biggest, most obvious, personality trait was that she loved to learn, loved to explore, loved to discover new things. It is hard to freeze her at 11 and even harder to imagine her not 11.

Loneliness

It's the loneliness that takes me by surprise today. Every day it is something different that breaks through the numbness. But today, it is the utter and absolute knowledge that there is one less person in this world who loves me. I have always assumed my feeling that Em and I were closer than most moms and daughters was just a perception. Assumed everyone feels like this about their children, that everyone has this connection that we had. But I'm not sure. There have been times when I honestly felt like she was the only person on this earth that understood me. There were times when she didn't, obviously; times when we argued, when we fought, when we completely did not agree with the other. But I always felt like I could see through her into her heart and that she could do the same. With her gone I feel like I don't have my team on my side. I feel like I am always ganged up on. Always the odd man out. And I know this too will pass. Already Al and I are becoming closer figuring out our new selves without another huge personality in the mix. But it is slow and it is painful for me. It reminds me acutely of what isn't here.

I wonder if this is much like what people go through when their kids leave the house. I don't think we realize when we are in the midst of our lives with our children how much we take from them. How much of our emotional needs are met by them. We need love and affection and we get much of that from our children. Maybe it is less and less as they grow so by the time they move out you are used to fewer hugs and kisses, fewer people to have talks about your thoughts and feelings with. When one of those people is ripped away while you are still right in the middle of the high interaction stage of life it feels like your love is gone. I always come back to that. The only emotion I've ever had in the past that ever came close to this, were the few (very few) times when there was a threat that Jay and I would part, that my heart would be broken.

Now, my heart is broken (for the first time, ever) and it is the most final of all breakings and I don't think it will ever be whole.