A Solemn Occasion
In an earlier editorial, I wrote about having the option of family to go home to as a solution to homelessness. In that editorial, I mentioned that my own family indicated to me that coming home was “not an option” for me. The reason for that statement was not because of my father, who would have welcomed me had he been the one calling the shots. In early May, my father passed away. I boarded a bus and traveled all night, getting not a wink of sleep, in order to arrive to his funeral in North Carolina. When I went to his funeral, it could not have been made clearer to me that I had no home to return to than it was at that funeral.
When I arrived at the funeral site, my stepmother acknowledged me only for a fleeting moment. I was in a state of confusion anyway, as I met relatives and friends of the family that I had not seen in 20 to 30 years. I had to deal with the visual shock of how they had aged. It was at the memorial service that I saw how I had become little more than an unwanted stepchild. The clergyman speaking there did not know me, and he spoke only about what a successful second marriage my father had with my stepmother. He spent a long time praising their marriage and how much my father loved her, almost ignoring the fact that my father had been married to my mother for a longer period and that they had raised a family together. The only mention he made of me was how my father had “loved his boys with unconditional love,” for whatever that was worth. It was as if my mother, my brother and I were a mere afterthought in this ceremony.
I knew that I was persona non grata in my stepmother’s house, so there was no place for me to go for the mourning after the ceremony. Fortunately, the cousin who had stayed in touch with me and who had informed me of my father’s death had come with her daughter, and they took me around at a time when I definitely did not need to be left alone. It would not have been good for me to go back to a hotel room to sit by myself. My cousin paid for the hotel room, I must add, which was a very nice gesture on her part. Even though I no longer had a home to call my own any more, it was nice to know that I still had some family that cared.
As for my father, I know he is no longer suffering and has moved on to the next world. He suffered enough from the ravages of Alzheimer’s, and even though he was good humored about it, the disease ultimately took his life regardless. I devote this column to his memory, may it be blessed.
When I arrived at the funeral site, my stepmother acknowledged me only for a fleeting moment. I was in a state of confusion anyway, as I met relatives and friends of the family that I had not seen in 20 to 30 years. I had to deal with the visual shock of how they had aged. It was at the memorial service that I saw how I had become little more than an unwanted stepchild. The clergyman speaking there did not know me, and he spoke only about what a successful second marriage my father had with my stepmother. He spent a long time praising their marriage and how much my father loved her, almost ignoring the fact that my father had been married to my mother for a longer period and that they had raised a family together. The only mention he made of me was how my father had “loved his boys with unconditional love,” for whatever that was worth. It was as if my mother, my brother and I were a mere afterthought in this ceremony.
I knew that I was persona non grata in my stepmother’s house, so there was no place for me to go for the mourning after the ceremony. Fortunately, the cousin who had stayed in touch with me and who had informed me of my father’s death had come with her daughter, and they took me around at a time when I definitely did not need to be left alone. It would not have been good for me to go back to a hotel room to sit by myself. My cousin paid for the hotel room, I must add, which was a very nice gesture on her part. Even though I no longer had a home to call my own any more, it was nice to know that I still had some family that cared.
As for my father, I know he is no longer suffering and has moved on to the next world. He suffered enough from the ravages of Alzheimer’s, and even though he was good humored about it, the disease ultimately took his life regardless. I devote this column to his memory, may it be blessed.
posted by MasterWriter at 12:18 p.m.
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