Dearest Rachel –
It’s been decided, at least by me – and when I’m the one driving, that’s basically the one opinion that matters. We’ll be heading downstate one last time on Saturday (although who knows if Ellen will need more help with her mom’s old townhome, as she and her sisters wind up the estate) to pay respects to her mom. It’s only fair; she’s been here for you and me, so I should do likewise. As the great Yogi said, if you don’t go to others’ funerals, they won’t come to yours.
To be honest – and you might get a laugh out of this – I initially thought that this wasn’t going to be such a big deal. Ellen and her sisters had moved her up here a few months ago, so that they could keep an eye on her and tend to her that much better. When I heard that the funeral would be held in the mid-morning, I thought it would be no big deal for me (and presumably Daniel) to pop in, attend, express our condolences, and still make it back to the booth in the evening (and the weekend’s assignment might well serve as a separate letter in and of itself, given the timing, but I’ll explain that later on). Why I assumed it would take place up here, when her people are still downstate, I can’t explain; this is my home, and I forget that others wouldn’t necessarily think that way upon arriving here.
After all, why should Sylvia think of herself as being ‘home’ up here? She only had a couple of months up here, and most of that time was spent only partially aware of her surroundings. She’d been suffering from the same thing your mom had, more or less, at the same point in her life. So all in all, this wasn’t ever going to be ‘home’ for her, even if she was living with her daughter for once in a very long time. Besides, most of her people (those that are still alive) are still down there, and if she has a burial plot by her husband, it would be down there as well. It may be a pain to transport a body those two hundred fifty miles, but it would need to be done at some point; the sisters might as well hold a memorial event as long as their mother needs to be brought down there.
This, however, means that paying our respects requires a little more of a commitment than I’d planned or expected. Not that it can’t be done; it just means that we’ll have to make a point of getting out of town early enough that we arrive down there before the service starts in the mid-morning. That means starting out while it’s still dark, some time around five in the morning or so.
As I understand, the girls are actually more used to doing so than Daniel or I am; they have work commitments that require them to start their day in what looks and feels like the dead of night, especially as we make our way toward the winter solstice. Indeed, Erin’s entire work ‘day,’ if you can call it that, is spent in darkness, and the wee hours are like home to her. Granted, that doesn’t mean she likes to drive at such an hour, but that’s more a matter of not liking to drive, period, as opposed to any issues with the nighttime itself. Meanwhile Kerstin’s bus routes often begin in darkness, just as the school day itself does, except that much earlier, since she needs to get the kids to school, and so if their day begins in darkness, so much more so does hers. So this isn’t the big deal for them as it is for us boys; even doing so on Saturday won’t necessarily faze them.
As for the three of us (yes, Logan’s expressed interest in paying his respects, as well. Where you aren’t the linchpin that keeps us together as a group, Daniel has at least served to bring Logan into the circle in a way that I don’t make any attempt to), this isn’t so much of a challenge as something that requires us to make a deliberate effort to do. Organically, I can easily wake up by six – although being willing to get up at that hour involves more willpower than I generally have – but anything earlier than that would require an, er… conscious attempt at achieving unconsciousness earlier in preparation. To be sure, since we wouldn’t be likely to get together with the girls the night before, it should be a simple matter to just decide to call it a night at, say, nine in the evening (it’s dark enough by then to do so) and set an alarm to wake up at four, get dressed in decent black apparel, and head out to pick up the girls (since we’re car pooling). If the boys forget, I can make sure to hold up my end, and drag them out of bed such that they’re in the car by four-thirty; if they sleep along the way, it’s no skin off my nose. But that’s the plan, such as I have it put together.
To be fair, just the fact that we’ve been planning back and forth in the group chat has apparently been gratifying enough for Ellen; she recently said as much, along with a message that, if it’s too much of a hassle, we can stay home. As far as she’s concerned, it’s the thought that counts, and we don’t need to act on our plans to receive credit in her book. But while I can’t speak for the others, I don’t think that reneging on our commitment to go would be a good look; when we say we’re going to do something (especially for someone else – it’s one thing to have dreams for one’s own future that one can’t follow through on. In that case you’re only letting yourself down), we ought to be able to convert our words into deeds, otherwise the former are meaningless. Sure, the latter may require more of us than we initially planned, but for the words to have weight, they need to be backed up with the deeds. It’s as much for our own sake as for Ellen’s, at this point.
And with that being said – and our battle plans laid out like so – I appreciate it if, as usual, you would keep an eye on us, honey, and wish us luck. I hardly need to tell you, we’re going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 