Bob Sr.

Did I mention that my grandpa died? He did, the one who lived with us, upstairs in the finished-out attic. And I learned that I didn't really know him enough to be terribly distraught, and that I really don't enjoy being consoled. All that makes me sound like a heartless bitch. But he was so sick, I just never knew the man. He couldn't come downstairs, and I never went up. On his birthday we would take him a piece of cake. At Christmas, a shirt or something, and a card he couldn't read on his own. So of course I'm sad. But he was just so sick that it can't have been all bad. I wouldn't want to go on living like that, and I wouldn't wish it on anybody.

And being consoled, receiving the flowers and the food and the "our prayers are with you" cards? It's all well and good, it's the polite thing to do, and I'm sure my parents appreciate it. I appreciate it. But I don't like dealing with it, just like I don't like dealing with forced politeness at family gatherings or when I meet people who remember me when I was "still in diapers." It's awkward. So I just haven't bothered to tell anyone yet. He died in his sleep Friday night.

We're not having any kind of service for him. That sounds even more heartless and bitchy of us. But it's the holidays, and his closest relatives besides us are a 10 hour drive away. They all agreed.

It's just really, really strange.

2003-12-22 @ 8:05 p.m.

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