Husband, sister, and I spent a really great weekend with my cousin John, who drove up from San Diego. It's always lovely to discover that someone you think you've known your whole life has gone and grown into an amazing person. John is the youngest of our generation of cousins and I sort of left town before he really came into himself. He is a fascinating, compassionate, peaceful person and I am honored to know him.
I think we all still feel this need to be around each other as insulation from the pain. Saturday was to be my parents' 39th wedding anniversary, so my Dad had an especially difficult day. There was really nothing that I could think to say to him over the phone to make it better, either. Still, John came up and we attended a mass dedicated to my mom at St. Timothy's, her old church here where she got married. We also went to Holy Cross Cemetary (which was massive) to visit my mom's father, Ruggero, and her grandparents, Concetta and Giuseppe. It was good just to be there, and to somehow thank them for helping my mom through the Transition.
I overheard the lady at the front desk tell a patron that a crypt in the masoleum was going to run at least $8,000. Can you believe it? That's for a stone box, not even including funeral services or coffin or anything, just the plot! Even the real estate for the dead in LA is unaffordable.
We then had it out in a battle for Mario Party and Balderdash champion, but that's a different story altogether...
I've had uncontrollable urges to clean and purge my home, getting rid of anything superfluous. That led me to a late-night bathroom cleaning, which I am now regretting at the office as I'm trying desperately to keep my eyes open. Everything feels so pedestrian, but there are things that have to get done. My uncle quoted this poem to me the day of the funeral and I can't get it out of my head:
No one believed. They listened at his heart.
Little--less--nothing! --and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs. -"Out, Out" Robert Frost