June 5, 2006

Family-wise, this spring we finally got our acts together to pay for perpetual care for my moms grave.

That means the grounds staff at the memorial park plant flowers every spring so we who have full schedules or live miles from the grave (This includes everyone except people who own farms outside King City) don't have to worry about making the trek to plot z39 of the Pardesh Shalom memorial gardens every week to check that the perennials are getting enough water.

At first I was pissed that they have this service. Mostly because they won't let any old someone plant flowers, it's the grounds crew or nothing. Seems a little controlling, but you can't beat the price, $3000 and it's forever.

That's ridiculously cheap when you stop to consider how long forever really is...

I am glad we're going to do this. Lately I have been feeling like my dead mom is still a pretty lively presence in my life. And she deserves a tribute every spring. Also she loved to garden so in the moments where I feel strongly that my mom is actually there at the grave as a presence, (you can blame 6 feet under or my innately supersticious nature) I picture her taking pleasure in having a well tended grave with some flowers of her own to take pride in. It's silly I guess if I really try to pin it down but that's how i feel about it.

In the two years since my mom died, I've been slowly taking notes about what has changed, and a big one, outside of the actual grieving process has been the entire families reaction to our blood-ties and intimacy.

So for example, getting this whole perpetual planting thing worked out involved a few phone calls. One to Bubi, and one to my aunt who is my mothers older sister.

Mostly it was a matter of the proper cheques being written and the proper permissions being given. Beaurocratic stuff. I hadn't heard from my aunt about the end result so I called and left a message this week-end to find out whether everything was okay.

She called back and left a message this evening and part of the message dealt with my Bubi's failing health and the fact that she'd love to hear from me more (Presumably to find out why I still haven't gotten married, we've gotten to the point that either her health is so bad, or my prospects so dim, that she requires a monthly update). Anyways;

At the end of the message my aunt said;

"Frankly my dear, your Bubi's depressed, like 9/10s of our family, I know, but still, she'd love to hear from you."

And I was like hold your xanax there Aunty R' we don't talk about our depressions we just sit around the dining room table drinking whisky in our tea cups and popping pills in the vestibule, is this a sea- change I am hearing?

If we get any more honest then we're all going to have to admit we've been in therapy for over 100 years collectively, trying to undo all the damage we've done to each other, and what would happen next? Anarchy or a family reunion I imagine.

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