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I've got a terrible cold. Or something. I feel awful, but I managed to get through most of the memorial yesterday before I really started to feel physically bad. The memorial was really very cool, very sweet. A lot of people got up and told little stories and just kind of expressed how my mother had touched them in some way. It was cool, I cried a lot, which was fairly therapeutic. There was laughter too, a lot of laughter. A few of my friends who came down from San Francisco brought a blueberry pie and a small bottle of Whiskey which we passed around. I kept joking, "Damnit! This is a memorial, not a wake, you Irish bastards!"

The hardest part of the memorial service was dealing with all these people swooping in and talking to me, holding their faces mere inches from mine. Yikes! Talk about invading my personal space! There was some awkwardness dealing with my uncle, but there always is. I think he thinks I'm going to let him move in to the house in Santa Cruz, and I don't really know how to tell him that there's NO WAY that's going to happen...

Oh well. After the service thing was pretty much over with, a bunch of us headed back towards my house and we watched a video of my mom doing a poetry reading and then we all decided to head to Saturn Cafe for Mud Pie but I just got a big hippie sandwich. The trip back to SF was fun, my housemate Danny rented a car and 4 people squashed in to the back seat and cracked jokes the whole way. It's good to be back up in the city. The popeye's across the street has flags up all over and this tasteful vinyl sign reading "GOD BLESS THE VICTIMS & FAMILIES & AMERICA" - uh.

back seat full of monkeys       Safety First for Spazzes!


( 2 uh-ohs — Make a mess )
Sep. 16th, 2001 08:21 pm (UTC)

Hmm. On second thought, I don't have anything constructive to add.

I'm sorry about your mother. On the plus side, you got whiskey. Small consolation, I know.


Oh, whoops. No Engrish in today's comment. My brain isn't working right today.
Sep. 16th, 2001 09:45 pm (UTC)
Yeah... I've had a lot of time to sort of adjust to the idea of my mother's death... Not that it's somehow easier or better this way, or anything, but I had time to work through some of the crap before having to deal with it publicly. So I wasn't sobbing and freaking out. I had to do some consoling of my own, and since there was time to kind of get my shit together, I feel like I was more able to do so.

The words HIPPIE SANDWICH make me think wrong evil bad things.
( 2 uh-ohs — Make a mess )