The Funeral.

Without death, life would be meaningless. It is what makes life so fantastic, so precious, because death can come at any time. Any moment could theoretically be one's last. What I am leading to with all of this drivel is the fact that I dealt with death this week. I did not look death in the face, but merely basked in it's dark light. My 83 year-old grandfather died suddenly last Thursday morning, at the tail end of a glorious week, with nothing but joy in his heart, I'm sure. My grandfather suffered from Alzheimer's, a devastating degenerative disease that affects the brain. The second last time I saw my grandfather, it was the middle of last summer and he did not recognize me. The very last time I saw him, it was July 8th, and he commented on how I'd changed my hair. I think I hugged him goodbye. And although I said goodbye that day, I wasn't aware that it would be the last time.

The guilt I suffer now is crushing me with it's weight. I could have visited him more. I could have had a last goodbye. I could have enriched his life, no matter how minutely, and made him a little extra happy for a little longer. He liked to talk. Near the end, he didn't really have anyone to listen. He may have repeated his stories, and tired those around him, but any bit of patience would have made him happy. I have taken my time to mourn his loss this week, but truthfully, he was gone long ago. The real essence that was my grandfather slowly disappeared over the last couple of years, and although bits and pieces of him remained in his strong body, he was no longer the man I knew. In a way, I'm glad I didn't see him at his worst.

The viewing and funeral, Sunday and Monday, were made worse by the fact that my family is feuding. My mother doesn't talk to her siblings at the moment, except through lawyers. The past few years have been ruinous in the monetary scheme of things, mainly concerning my grandfather's money and who is doing what with it. He gave up control of his accounts a few years ago when it was decidedly silly for him to continue running things. His Alzheimer's got worse. My mother and her siblings took control, and that's where things get fuzzy. The main thing is that they quite detest each other now.

I, of course, am stuck in purgatory.

I am fiercely loyal to my mom, but at first it seemed extremely hard to put the relationships with my aunts, uncles, and cousins on hold. Then I saw them again. Their behaviour was primarily childish, disappointing, and fundamentally shameful. They seem to have regressed back to childhood. They treated me as if I was invisible, smelly, and astonishing all at once. This behaviour suddenly made it much easier to think about life without them.

Needless to say, it was a tiring couple of days. During the funeral service, I was almost shaking with rage. That the family my grandfather had created could not put their differences aside and unite in their grief sickened me to the core. His life could barely be celebrated while his progeny was busy hating each other's guts. It is love we needed to share, not hate. I only hope that, with time, my aunts and uncles will realize what they have thrown away. They have severed ties with their blood, people who would love them given the chance, and have maybe forever lost something incredibly important. And why? Money. A common reason these days.

When did it become okay to choose money? When did money become more important than anything else in life?