One week from today is the memorial for Steve. My hope/plan is this be a celebration of his life. The theme is "Jazz Funeral" ish, or as ish as I can make it. It will be here at the house trig (re)built.

I would LOVE to know your favorite tr ig saying, trigism, glimpse into the man known as tr ig, stories and the like that I can read aloud or at least print out. Much appreciation. 

Views: 819

Comment by Jenny on July 16, 2017 at 8:21pm

i just can't believe he's gone

Comment by koshersalaami on July 16, 2017 at 8:25pm

Particularly if anyone is around taking care of you, stay on autopilot. 

Comment by greenheron on July 17, 2017 at 3:30am

Jenny, I can't even imagine.

You are in my thoughts too all this week.

Comment by Safe Bet's Amy on July 17, 2017 at 7:24am

Sorry, Jenny...  my mind is closing up...

Comment by JMac1949 Today on July 17, 2017 at 7:30am

FM Thanks so much for the cover of Illegal Smile, one of my favorites from John Prine.  Appropriate that trig liked it too.

Comment by greenheron on July 17, 2017 at 7:42am

Beautiful, Monkey.

tr ig, what, no lights near the couch?? (he would not mind me asking this question).

Thank you also for your explanation of the origins of fuckmuppets. I was never briefed on that–it was a thing that existed but I never knew how, or if I'd been labeled as one. Whoever believed that Open Salon was too good for tr ig, nana, and you, well, they missed out on something quite amazing, didn’t they?

Comment by koshersalaami on July 17, 2017 at 8:29am

 Thank you Thank you Thank you

I'd never heard Tr ig talk before. One of the characteristics of knowing people through the written (typed) word is we don't know what each other sound like. I've met four people in person that I know through blogging:

Jon

Lezlie

Rob Wittmann

The Good Daughter

I've heard Ron's voice on the phone 

And I've seen video of Lorianne speaking, off camera.

I don't have a clue what anyone else sounds like. I might be leaving someone out in terms of video. I've heard Zanelle play a tin whistle I think but I don't remember if the video included speech. 

Sometimes that contains surprises. When Lezlie met me,  I think she was struck by how much I talk like I write. 

 

Comment by Jenny on July 19, 2017 at 12:09am

Thank you FM, I hadn't seen the 2 of him singing. He played that little guitar every day... god I miss him. With the service coming up at home here, I'm in manic cleaning mode and I hate my bathroom grout, scrubbed the shit out of it today, so it's better, but still ugly. Can't make sense of where I am and why I'm here alone. Just why the fuck. 

Comment by Julie Johnson on July 19, 2017 at 4:08am

Jenny, you don't know me but I've been following along with your all's story for years now, and I can't even imagine. I'm so so very very sorry for your loss.   

Comment by greenheron on July 19, 2017 at 5:20am

There is much to be said for cultural traditions that embrace keening and wailing and renting and tearing of garments and wearing black. Americans are conditioned to be so emotionally reserved, to keep a stiff lip, to hide our grief. Maybe we get this from the Brits, but it isn’t such a helpful approach to the grief experience. 

I love the New Orleans funeral tradition. The beloveds and friends of the deceased walk their person to the graveyard, wailing and weeping and keening to dirge music. On the walk back, the band switches to festive music, and the mourners sway and dance, called the second line. 

When I lost a beloved spouse, not to death, but to an unwanted divorce, I ugly-wept multiple times daily for nearly a year. Some days, once I started, I feared I would not be able to stop. I’m a morning distance walker, and continued walking then. Walks became aimless weepy wanderings in all weathers, rain and snow, somewhere, anywhere, tear-stained face, swollen eyes, not caring who saw, like a mad woman. People would look away, embarrassed. It didn’t matter. All that mattered that year was the monumental loss of the man I’d vowed to grow old with and still loved. It felt like a limb had been torn off and sent somewhere. 

Yet even at the deepest point, I knew a day would come when I’d feel differently. Each day as I wept, I took a polaroid to document my grief. The stacks grew quite high. For years, I could not look at these, then one day, looked and remembered: that’s what it was like. The polaroids are now long gone, lost or tossed, I can’t remember that either.

For now though, as you scrub grout, maybe you can allow yourself a little keening and wailing. The grout would not mind, and seems to me, the loss of Steve is worth keening and wailing.

Still thinking about you, and Jeff and Eli. 

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