PinkBeltRage
mourning sickness.
5 March 07 ¦ Permalink ¦
My Grandma’s name is my middle name.
I barfed all the way home from Hawaii.
It was the longest flight of my life.
Before M and I even took off into the sky, I was already puking my brains out in the tiny little airplane lavatory. And horror upon horrors, immediately had to turn myself right around and diarrhea-d my brains out.
I thought about getting off, but then I figured I wouldn’t be able to get my checked baggage back and decided I could make it through the next five hours. I could. I thought.
My head was pounding at my temples as we finally jetted off into the afternoon sun.
Thank God M, for like the third time in her busy-busy life, fell asleep and was napping next to me in her window seat.
Anyway, this was the worst flight ever. The plane was centrally cooled and so there was no way for me to adjust the direct streams of freezing air blowing directly at my head from, I swear to god, every angle.
It hurt my head even more.
I asked the flight attendant if there was anyway at all to stop the air from blowing and hurting my head. I didn’t really ask, I more or less pleaded and cried.
He informed me that he would have to ask the pilot of the plane to turn it down and that it could only be controlled from the cockpit, as he handed me a bunch of barf bags and plastic bags to store them in.
I used every ounce of strength I could muster to pop open the top of a can of 7-Up. And it sat there, I would take a few zips every so often and it would only send me into a vomitous rage.
I thought about everything, all the crap food I ate in Hawaii… Kimchee ramen, fried rice, corned beef hash, pork, pork and hamburger steak and more pork and then my last meal before leaving for the airport after my Grandma’s burial, the Chinese MSG extravaganza with mystery seafoods tossed about in sodium swirls.
It was all this awfully good food mixed with sadness…
At this point, the flight attendant was boxing me in with the lunch cart, chiming out, “Turkey sandwich or pasta?”
No reply.
My stomach was churning.
My mouth was watering…
not in the good way either.
A little louder and not so sweet now:
“Turkey sandwich or pasta?”
Realizing I had no emergency exit, I replied with a flash of eye contact and a hurling guttural upchuck noise, as I began to projectile vomit into my barf bag right in front of her.
She quickly pushed forward without another word.
My head felt like an anvil was being dropped upon it again and again and again.
I tossed and turned and shifted in my uncomfortable seat.
The past few weeks took a toll on me physically, especially my trip to Hawaii . Maybe all of this airplane sickness was my body’s way of just getting every bit of pain and mourning out of me before I returned home.
Cleaning me out. Literally. . .
* * *
My trip to Hawaii was very brief, yet it felt like I had been away from home for a month.
My Grandma had put aside money for me and M to attend her funeral. She thought of me until the very end.
I was asked by my dad, who is the oldest of my grandma’s five children, to speak during the service.
I had put it off for as long as I could and finally decided to just start writing. I wrote what I wanted to say on the way to Hawaii, on the airplane.
And I wrote, and as I wrote it became very personal and later, when I found myself bending down to buckle the straps on my mary janes, getting ready for the funeral, I realized I wrote a speech that I couldn’t imagine sharing with a church full of people.
What I wrote was more like a journal entry. Not anything meant for others to know about let alone hear me tell them.
When I tried to strip it down and change it, it ended up sounding too cold and robotic. I had just told my mom her eulogy sounded too much like a third grade book report, and here I was, guilty of the same.
So, I kept it and took my printed speech with me.
On the drive to the mortuary, I felt calm and ready. I could do this. I told myself that I was going to deliver this speech about my Grandma perfectly. My voice would be clear and strong. It would comfort and make everyone see what a wonderful woman my Grandma was.
I would be the oldest granddaughter and grandchild attending the service, and I would be the one from the “mainland” who would impress and sound well, you know, more professional and not like the locals.
Hey, I was an English major, afterall. And as my family in Hawaii liked to say, “Oh dat means you talk da kine good english yah”.
I was going to make my Grandma proud.
I walked into the chapel with my family who arrived early.
At the front of the church I could see all of the huge floral wreaths in a row and in the center, my Grandma’s urn and a framed picture of her smiling.
It really hit me then.
I felt a knot in my throat, which continued to grow as I walked ahead. My Grandpa stopped with his cane and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the tears from his eyes.
It just broke my heart.
I couldn’t sing “Amazing Grace” at the start of the ceremony, even though the words were printed on the program. I mean, not that I needed the words. Everyone kinda knows the lyrics to that song, unless you’re like a wretched human, or something.
I felt that to open my mouth would either send out uncontrollable sobs, or that lump in my throat would explode and choke me.
I sat still, looked at my lap and tightly held M’s hand.
When it was time, I approached the mic at the podium thingy, placed my printed out speech in front of me and started off saying, “Um…”
Oh no. I knew right then that what I had imagined was going to be far from reality.
Nope. No Anne Curry eloquence from me.
The lump in my throat was taking over.
My voice wavered and shook and whispered as I told people of the kind of woman my Grandma was. I spoke of how she never wanted to talk about herself and never wanted me to worry, but only wanted to hear about M; even down to the tiniest details, like what she ate for lunch at school.
I was only a quarter of the way through my speech and as soon as M’s name came out of my mouth, I broke down.
I started to cry and words became lodged deep in my throat.
You know how it is, when you start crying and can’t breathe or make a sound?
I was silent for a good three minutes before I was able to continue. I cried my way through the rest of my thoughts and memories. My nose and mascara ran.
M was crying at the sight of me crying and my mom was crying as she cradled M in her arms. My cousins were staring at me in tears. Everyone was crying.
My speech was longer than the eulogy or sermon. I couldn’t stop talking, even though it was painful and I choked every now and then on my tears.
I needed to do this. I wanted everyone to remember my Grandma for the strong, loving, unique and fun woman that she was. . . that even though her body lost in the end to cancer, she was the brave strong heart of our family and despite the pain she was in, she still wanted to know what I fed M for dinner.
I even told everyone there about my dream.
After playing it over and over in my mind, I decided it was her spirit coming to give me one more hug and yet another example of the way she put her family first.
I stood there dizzy and completely broken down in sobs telling everyone that her love for me was so strong, she was able to find me in my dreams and comfort me.
And that was the kind of woman she was.
In the end, while the speech was not at all perfect and poised … the way I had planned to honor my Grandma’s life… I am glad with how it turned out, tears and all.
It was a relief to just let go, speak straight from my heart and cry .. despite the fact that it was in front of a chapel full of family and friends and people I didn’t know.
My Grandma was a wonderful person. Her smile always filled the room and I know everyone there realized just how much that smile will be missed.
I was deeply moved by the emails and the messages many of you left here on my blog. Your shared experiences and words of encouragement meant a lot to me and I thought of all of these things as I stood in that chapel and it felt like a comforting hand upon my shoulder.
Thank you.
* * *
— Erica 5 March 07 #
— ScottieB 5 March 07 #
i sat there and watched the majority of my friends will their way up there and share a memory or two of our friend, suman, through the tears and the chokes and sobs. the entire time, i wanted to get up there and say something but i couldn’t bring myself to do it.
it takes so much courage, will, and compassion to speak about a loved one who has passed away and i’m glad you could.
— christine 5 March 07 #
— Angel 6 March 07 #
It was the monday after Chris’s passing, my friend who died 2 weeks ago. I was sitting in choir, trying very much to continue to breathe and keep his passing from my mind, but trying to do that is very much like trying to keep the smell of vinegar out of the air at home when my mom pickles her cucumers…
We began singing an acapella jazz peice called “Loving You.”
Many of us lost it, and had to go to the girls dressing room across the hall. We sobbed, and prayed, and told stories of when we first met chris. I need to be with people.
I dunno. I just wanted to share that i guess.
i lost about 5 pounds over that weekend from not eating to much….again i guess i just wanted to share that too.
You are an amazing woman Joy. And really, truely, i want to meet you one day.
— Kevin 6 March 07 #
— josh h 6 March 07 #
— tedfoo 8 March 07 #
I remember when my Grandpa, who I was very close to, died. It wasn’t really until we were at the graveside that I started crying. I remember feeling a mixture of real sadness and a sense that he was at finally at peace and back by my Grandma’s side after four long years of separation. They’d been married for 62 years and his life effectively ended when she died.
I think CS Lewis sums up grief perfectly when he writes: “The pain now is part of the happiness then.”
— Clark Ainsworth 10 March 07 #
Take care and big hugs.
xo
— lexinthecity 11 March 07 #
Take care little one
P
— pjaol 17 March 07 #
— patreesha 29 March 07 #