Alone among strangers living and dead.

I went to the calling hours for my Great Aunt Emma tonight. She died on the 7th, at the age of 95.

I wish I could say I remember her, but I don't. I remember Uncle Hubert, her husband, but only barely.

I went with my sister, my mother, and my uncle. The only person there that I even recognized was my Great Uncle. People would tell me they hadn't seen me since I was little. At this point, I have no clue how to respond to that. Maybe they've lost track of the passage of time, but I'm 27 now. They don't know what to say to me, and I don't know what to say to them. I'm not much bothered to try, either, really.

This is my family. Not that it matters. I don't know them. They're strangers to me, strangers as much as my aunt was. I felt awkward, like I didn't belong. My sister felt the same way...these are not people we know.

For my sister, it brought back unpleasant memories of her father's death, and for me, it was a reminder of the poor relationship I have with my mother's side of the family. I've never felt close to any of them, and tonight, I felt further apart from them than ever.
Just pretend.
Pretend it matters.
Pretend they matter.
It makes them feel better.
I want to be among people who remember me as more than a child who once used to exist to them. I want to exist in someone's sight as more than just a memory.

It was my sister's first time seeing a dead body. She wasn't expecting that...I think it was hard on her. She said that if her father's funeral had been an open casket, she would've hugged her father's body.

She told me she's upset when her older sister wants to show her videos of her own childhood with my step-dad...because it only reminds her that she had precious little time with her father. All of the years that should have been hers were stolen away.

I told her that he loved her right up till the end, and loves her still.

The little card at the funeral home had a picture of a dove ascending to the heavens. A spirit drifting up to its eternal repose, joined by Aunt Emma, my step-dad, my grandfather...

The strangers in my family.

Even among strangers, there are more similarities than differences...imagine being an orphan with no extant family.

I was adopted at birth (given up by two folks who'd no intention of marrying). I later found my biological father and mother. She had had two children with her husband, and my biological father has two children with his wife. My adopted parents are protestant and catholic. My mother is mormon. My father is jewish.

I have two fathers, and three mothers, and four half brothers/sisters. Yet find myself looking inward for self-knowledge/validation. "Home is where you don't have to explain yourself." :shrug:

Sorry to hear about your loss, and the unusual experience surrounding it.

I'm pretty close with most of them.

Or I don't have something typical.

the one time, we had that flash of recognition, that stunning sort of "oh yeah" moment...

On my mom's side I know my grandparents, but my mom has two brothers who I've never met. :shrug:



Your sister might resent those videos of her dad now, but I can promise she'll go to cherish them later. There are pictures of my dad (although not too many since he was the family photographer), but no videos. I would love to have some. :(

'Samantha got to spend her entire childhood with her dad, I lost him at age eight, then again at age 11. This just reminds me of how little I got.'
:hug:

My dad died when I was 10, and my brother was 19 almost 20. I was jealous for sure.

:hug:

:hug: