Sunday, January 14, 2007
The ironies of life
At work, I have to ask people for their first and last name so I can document all calls. Here's a pointer: If your name is Mary Smith, I don't need you to spell it. "Mary Smith, S-M-I-T-H." No way! I thought you spelled it Smythe. Of course, the exact opposite happens when a person with a name like Giaioulouplous calls in. "This is Myrnatell Giaioulouplous." Long pause..."Can you spell that please"? Giant huff on the other end. Sorry dude! I can't spell that shit!
Friday, January 5, 2007
What does one do?
When faced with the fact that everyone and their dog has a blog?
I've half-heartedly tried to blog before, but I just don't like livejournal and myspace is great for many things, but I don't want to blog there. I don't know why I feel the need to explain, as it's not as if there are people beating down my door begging to read the ramblings that I may have to offer. Those who know me realize they'll hear it in person, and probably a few times.
Still here I am...
I find there are some things that go on in my life that I don't necessarily want to verbalize, but would like to put out there, so it's not just sitting in my mind.
Today was my grandmother's funeral. I was so sure I'd grieved for her already, as we thought she was going to pass for the past several months and everytime we got the call we prepared ourselves. Of course, the next morning we'd find out that she was up and eating breakfast, so we put aside our sorrow and celebrated that she made it through another day. We all got to say our goodbyes and make our peace, which I now know is truly a blessing. One of my childhood friends lost her father to a mysterious illness and the family was truly robbed of him in his last days, not even realizing he would soon die. There is no easy way to deal with death but I think we all were grateful for how she passed.
I didn't think I would cry at the funeral. Funny afterthought, considering that we are talking about me afterall, the one who cries. I thought I'd made my peace and I wouldn't need to grieve as much because I knew it was coming. The service was nice enough and her pastor did a great job painting a picture of her life and triggering memories of what she was like and we laughed when he politely explained how "inquisitive" she always was...as she was always the queen of twenty questions. No detail was too small to share, no name to insignifcant to tell. Then he sang two of her favorite hymns, and that's when I lost all control of my emotions and started to shed tears. She'd told the preacher which songs she wanted sung and he did them beautifully. There is something so powerful about words when combined with music, especially when it touches on the exact sentiment of the occasion.
Now I feel like I did before, which is thankful for the time we had with her, and at peace with her death.
I used to write her letters when I was younger. She loved getting my letters and somehow found my thoughts on life as a twelve year old interesting. After a while, I kind of dwindled off with my letters to her, as life changed, and I moved away from home and cluttered my life with other things. She never forgot those letters and always made sure to mention how much she loved them whenever I saw her. I would occasionally remember to drop her a line or two and while I was in Ireland, my aunt and uncle were nice enough to print off my weekly emails home and take them to her. I wish now of course, that I had kept up with those letters more diligently, and will dedicate this to her because I know no matter how insignificant I may feel at times, she would have loved reading what I had to say.
I've half-heartedly tried to blog before, but I just don't like livejournal and myspace is great for many things, but I don't want to blog there. I don't know why I feel the need to explain, as it's not as if there are people beating down my door begging to read the ramblings that I may have to offer. Those who know me realize they'll hear it in person, and probably a few times.
Still here I am...
I find there are some things that go on in my life that I don't necessarily want to verbalize, but would like to put out there, so it's not just sitting in my mind.
Today was my grandmother's funeral. I was so sure I'd grieved for her already, as we thought she was going to pass for the past several months and everytime we got the call we prepared ourselves. Of course, the next morning we'd find out that she was up and eating breakfast, so we put aside our sorrow and celebrated that she made it through another day. We all got to say our goodbyes and make our peace, which I now know is truly a blessing. One of my childhood friends lost her father to a mysterious illness and the family was truly robbed of him in his last days, not even realizing he would soon die. There is no easy way to deal with death but I think we all were grateful for how she passed.
I didn't think I would cry at the funeral. Funny afterthought, considering that we are talking about me afterall, the one who cries. I thought I'd made my peace and I wouldn't need to grieve as much because I knew it was coming. The service was nice enough and her pastor did a great job painting a picture of her life and triggering memories of what she was like and we laughed when he politely explained how "inquisitive" she always was...as she was always the queen of twenty questions. No detail was too small to share, no name to insignifcant to tell. Then he sang two of her favorite hymns, and that's when I lost all control of my emotions and started to shed tears. She'd told the preacher which songs she wanted sung and he did them beautifully. There is something so powerful about words when combined with music, especially when it touches on the exact sentiment of the occasion.
Now I feel like I did before, which is thankful for the time we had with her, and at peace with her death.
I used to write her letters when I was younger. She loved getting my letters and somehow found my thoughts on life as a twelve year old interesting. After a while, I kind of dwindled off with my letters to her, as life changed, and I moved away from home and cluttered my life with other things. She never forgot those letters and always made sure to mention how much she loved them whenever I saw her. I would occasionally remember to drop her a line or two and while I was in Ireland, my aunt and uncle were nice enough to print off my weekly emails home and take them to her. I wish now of course, that I had kept up with those letters more diligently, and will dedicate this to her because I know no matter how insignificant I may feel at times, she would have loved reading what I had to say.
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