Yesterday was my mom’s “funeral”; really a celebration of life. There was no priest, there was no formal procession or anything; just a sort of party/opportunity for my Dad to speak. They were planning for about 30 people to show up but around 100 came. Some of the were friends of my Mom but most people were just local residents or people that were there to support my Dad. There’s a lot that I can say about the experience, but the thing I want to focus on is also the main reason that I came: my sister. Many of you who know me will be surprised to learn that I even have a sister. She’s not my full sister; she’s my half-sister from my Dad’s previous marriage. She is 53 years old, so 7 years older than I am.
And I had never met her. Well, strictly speaking, that isn’t true; apparently we met once when I was 12 and she was 19. But I don’t remember that. It was, after all, 34 years ago. Now, you may ask how that could possibly be. It isn’t like I didn’t know she existed. And there wasn’t any bad blood between the two of us or anything. But my Dad - who overall is an awesome person - just had made this life decision simply not to be part of her life, and as a consequence she also wasn’t part of mine. There’s a lot to unpack there, and that may happen someday, but I don’t know if I will talk about it publicly, and most of that work has to happen between my Dad and her.
She also has a son, Owen, who is 22, and he came as well. So I guess he’s my half-nephew.
Anyway, they decided to come to the celebration. Which is, to be honest, slightly odd at first glance, because my Mom, the person who died, is not related to either of them at all. My sister - Denise - had only even met my Mom a handful of times. But she came anyway, and when I asked her why, she just said “because that’s what we do”. My personal theory is that she wanted Owen to meet his grandfather. It’s very strange to think of my Dad that way, as a grandfather to this person I’ve never met before and don’t know. But it’s the truth, and the truth is always more compelling than fiction.
And, of course, it turns out that they are good people, both of them. It was a fun trip, if such a thing can be said.
There is something poetic here, that I can’t quite put my finger on, about how my Mom’s death kicked something loose that allowed me to meet my sister for the first time as an adult. There’s something here about new things sprouting from the old. I know that my Mom, of all people, who loved connecting people together, would be happy to know that her passing is the thing that made this event happen.
There may be more to say in the future about my Mom’s passing. But for now I’m focused on a new beginning, and it was nice to meet my sister.
