January 23, 2006 - 12:09 a.m.
<Charlie's funeral
>
Yesterday we went through Blanche's house and cleaned out the rest of what we wanted. Although there was so much left, none of it was anything I'd have an interest in, and if I took it, it would just junk up my house. But knowing that whatever we didn't take, would probably just be thrown away, made me want to pick everything up and fill my apartment with it. These things which she loved, filled her life with, and meant something, immediately became "junk" upon her death. It was interesting to go through her house, because she never let anyone past the kitchen. I'd been past once, to the room with the gate and the player piano. But never upstairs. Obviously we had to go through it, but because she never let us, I felt as if I was invading.
Today was Charlie's funeral. Of course I cried a lot and made a fool of myself, and got so angry at everyone I could hear laughing and talking about trivial things. I tried to walk up to his casket, but when I got within ten feet I stopped and walked away, because he wasn't the same without life behind him. Some people I can look at in the casket. Some I can't. I couldn't look at him. I still can't believe he's gone. It's just unreal. There was a brief service in the funeral home, and afterwards people came up to pay their last respects. Because we were the closest thing to a family that he had, we were in front with his grandson. So we had to sit while everyone else came up. When I saw Grandpa saying goodbye, I started crying really hard. As Grandpa walked past, he put his hand on my shoulder and told me he was sorry.
Afterwards, we went out to dinner with some people. Charlie's grandson mentioned how Charlie always wanted him to write letters, and the grandson only wanted to talk on the phone. He said Charlie was so adamant about letters. I instantly felt horrible - as much I love writing letters, I never wrote him one, except a thank-you card for the Christmas present (which I'm sure he never got) and a Christmas card about a week before I came home. Why couldn't I have written him long letters? I got his address once, and Blanche's, and kept them in a notebook intending to write and never doing so, and then when I wanted to I couldn't find the paper anymore. I casually asked for them again a few times, but it was always an inconvenient time for my parents and I never really pursued it. Now I regret it. I don't use the word "regret" a lot, or feel it often at all, but I do severely regret not writing letters to Charlie.
My period came over a day late, which really freaked me out because when I'm on the pill, I kind of know down to a window of only a couple hours, when it will arrive. So when it came a day and a half late, especially considering that I'm on medication to stabalize it and it's not just my own body taking care of it, it was unnerving. It's weird to see how emotional stress can change you physically. How greatly I was upset that my body altered because of it.
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