(partially cross-posted to my shamanism blog)
A family member died on Sunday night. It's my mom's first cousin. She was also my godmother's sister and my grandmother's godchild. My grandmother is devastated. My mother said she thinks this will kill her.
I don't have any details yet. Just that her and her boyfriend were on a motorcycle in Cheshire and they both died. Which is very sad, right?
So our picnic yesterday was pretty subdued. My grandmother didn't speak at all, just kept getting up to walk (pace). Overnight she appears incredibly fragile. My mom said she called at 10:00 a.m. yesterday morning and she couldn't understand a word my grandma was saying. She had to go and get her. And as usual before we were finished eating she wanted to go home.
My dad was more concerned that the birds couldn't visit their feeder because we were sitting under the tree. He got up a couple of times to move and reposition the feeder infinitesimally. I guess his anti-anxiety anti-OCD pills haven't kicked in yet.
My mom brought out some old pictures after she came back, because she wanted her friend to see the beach at Plymouth (her friend that's going with them this year, as I already mentioned). Janet loved the pictures. Of course she also had to bring out the baby pictures of me, including the obligatory kiddie-p0rn (not a misspelling but I don't want this to get blocked by anti-porn filters) picture of me naked in my toybox. Every kid must have a naked picture of them somewhere. My dad only cared about old pictures of cars. "I wish I kept that car" he said of the old 1978 green Malibu. "That was a good car." I don't remember it as a "good" car--it was just a car to me. But I was a child, what did I know?
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