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kleenexwomanGot back about 5:30 this morning. I haven't slept for a couple days. Wish I could go back and sit shiva with everyone else, but school does not stop for shiva.
For those who are not aware: Sitting shiva is a Jewish mourning tradition that lasts seven days, hence the name: "sheva" or "shiva" (depending on how you transliterate the letters) is Hebrew for "seven." The immediate family is not allowed to cook, clean, wash, shave, have sex, wear hard shoes in the house, or do much of anything for a week while they mourn. Since we are Reform (read: practically goyim), most of this was completely disregarded.
The funeral was...funereal, I guess. I got to stand in a recieving line and be consoled at by relatives I've never met. Also, what do you say the 100th time somebody you don't know says "I'm sorry for your loss?" Mumbled "Thank you" seems to suffice, but it's a great temptation to say something semi-sarcastic like "Yeah, well so am I." (This would have gotten horrified looks from relatives that I do not particularly want to get horrified looks from, so I bit my tongue and submitted to blue-haired old lady hugs.)
A lot of people were there. The funeral home was packed. Apparently Grandpa Harold was much more popular than I thought. The funeral procession stretched for about a mile, and I don't think I'm exaggerating.
Good thing was that I got to see my family for a couple days, which I enjoy even at the worst of times. My Aunt Maureen has declared her intention to take me to get a tattoo for my nineteenth birthday. I'm still trying to decide on a design.
Also, Grandma Debbie gave me Grandpa's copy of "Nightmares and Dreamscapes," which is usually what I read when I need to hide during holiday parties. She said she thought he would have wanted me to have it.
I'm quite tired and am starting to make typos. I need sleep. You are allowed to sleep during shiva, but most people really don't.
For those who are not aware: Sitting shiva is a Jewish mourning tradition that lasts seven days, hence the name: "sheva" or "shiva" (depending on how you transliterate the letters) is Hebrew for "seven." The immediate family is not allowed to cook, clean, wash, shave, have sex, wear hard shoes in the house, or do much of anything for a week while they mourn. Since we are Reform (read: practically goyim), most of this was completely disregarded.
The funeral was...funereal, I guess. I got to stand in a recieving line and be consoled at by relatives I've never met. Also, what do you say the 100th time somebody you don't know says "I'm sorry for your loss?" Mumbled "Thank you" seems to suffice, but it's a great temptation to say something semi-sarcastic like "Yeah, well so am I." (This would have gotten horrified looks from relatives that I do not particularly want to get horrified looks from, so I bit my tongue and submitted to blue-haired old lady hugs.)
A lot of people were there. The funeral home was packed. Apparently Grandpa Harold was much more popular than I thought. The funeral procession stretched for about a mile, and I don't think I'm exaggerating.
Good thing was that I got to see my family for a couple days, which I enjoy even at the worst of times. My Aunt Maureen has declared her intention to take me to get a tattoo for my nineteenth birthday. I'm still trying to decide on a design.
Also, Grandma Debbie gave me Grandpa's copy of "Nightmares and Dreamscapes," which is usually what I read when I need to hide during holiday parties. She said she thought he would have wanted me to have it.
I'm quite tired and am starting to make typos. I need sleep. You are allowed to sleep during shiva, but most people really don't.
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Date: 2005-04-06 10:22 pm (UTC)I just wanted to scream back something along the lines of, "You're so right about that. Not in this shithole like me surrounded by assholes like you."
But yea...not exactly appropriate. I feel your pain.