There's Nothing Like a Funeral to Bring Family Together
My father's cousin's wife just died on Sunday. This may not seem too relevant to my life, but, in an Italian family, it's the equivalent of your aunt. . .

So, lucky me, I went to her "viewing" -- not that I "viewed" her because I think pumping up a dead body and trying to make it look alive is particularly gross. I dreaded this event. How FAR away, how CATHOLIC, who I might not want to see, who might TALK me to death, who might think I'm a whore because I left my husband? Nevertheless, I fulfilled my obligation as a dead person's husband's cousin's daughter should. I drove an hour there and an hour back. I paid $4 in tolls. I spent an hour at the funeral parlor. That's a grand total of three hours of my time and $4 (not counting the latte I purchased for the drive).

I thought it would be horrible, that I'd just (forgive me) "die" to be getting out of there. It ended up being so hard to leave. People flew in from Atlanta, drove in from the Carolinas, came down from New England, and crawled out of the local woodwork. I saw family I hadn't seen in years. I hugged people who needed hugs and who really DID care what had become of my life. I felt ashamed that I only see these folks at weddings and funerals.

My dad's cousin (whom I really do call my "aunt") chided me for leaving so soon. And one of her cousins looked at me cross-eyed for leaving. Yet, I left. On the drive home, I listened to 80's music. I don't' really know why, except for that might be the time period when I last saw some of these people.

I haven't visited my "aunt" in 13 years. Now a trip to Atlanta has become a necessity. While funerals might be icky, and I might be just fine with death, I'm not fine about missing out on my family connections. Life it too short to let those bonds slip through your fingers...