Then There Were Tears

After the graveside service where her remains were displayed like a box of donuts on a stand (she was cremated and the box containing her ashes resembled that of a donut box or perhaps a box for a floral corsage), the family found a restaurant and pulled several tables together to seat the 17 of us.  Those we were not expecting brought family photos, or memorabilia and stories. Looking at the photo I've included, the second man from the left in the glasses, no hat looks so much like our Grandpa that we couldn't stop staring at him.  Everyone laughed and shared stories of various family members and of Norma Jean - who, they all remembered, hated being called "Norma Jean".  For the first time ever, being with them actually felt like being with family to me.  We shared a common  understanding about a particular member of the family and no one questioned that understanding or the validity of it.  I received warm smiles and hugs from everyone after the meal was over and we all went our separate ways.  They all agreed to pose for this photo on my request.  And they invited me to come and visit them any time.  It was amazing.
The ride back to Coleman was so hot (we couldn't get the blower to come on) that I was so focused on that, not much else penetrated my senses.  We got home and Steph rested before having to go to work and the afternoon and evening were spent visiting with Clinton and his family.  But eventually, they too went home.  Steph was still at work and I sat quietly in the living room alone... and I felt the first twinge of grief.  It hit like a bowling ball thrown at my chest.  After Steph got home from work we talked about Norma Jean.  I talked about the conversation I'd had with Kimberley on our way home.  Kimberley had asked if I would be upset, if, when I went to heaven, that Norma Jean was there.  (Before I reveal my response, let me just say, my grandchildren are not aware of the specifics of what happened when I lived with Norma Jean.  They know she had adopted me, she was mean, and that the court took me away from her, that's how I ended up living in the children's home.)  I answered that I would not be upset.  I told her that I was not happy that Norma Jean had died.  And that I did not want her to suffer for all eternity.  And I laughingly added that I believe that God would probably not put our mansions next to one another.  I also told her that what happened to her now was between her and God.   As I related all of this to Steph, I added that if she was not in heaven, I do not believe that it would be due to what she did to me or to anyone else for that matter.  It would be for what she did not do in her relationship with God.  (I hadn't realized that this funeral was the first funeral my granddaughters had ever attended.  Thomas was not there, he stayed in Coleman at his uncle's.  So Kimberley had a lot of questions.)
The cousins and I had agreed to take a break from going through Norma Jean's belongings.  As I already stated, I came home and visited with my family and they went to Bowser to visit other family graves and to drive by what used to be the family farm.  We also agreed to meet back over at Norma Jean's house the following day to get as much done as possible before they had to return to their homes on Monday (today).  We agreed to an early start and I left my home in Coleman around 7:00 to head back to Brady for the 4th day in a row.  It was on that drive back to Brady, after the services were over, family members (except for the two cousins) had all gone home and it hit again.  It felt as though I could hardly breathe.  I heard grief moaning from deep in my throat.  No words, just groans.  Tears blurred my eyes and wet my cheeks as I felt my hands shaking on the wheel.  I had to drive passed the cemetery on my way in, so I pulled in and drove right over to her grave site.  I got out of my car and as I did, gasps of grief erupted from my chest.  I walked over and brushed loose dirt off  her headstone.  Carole had put yellow silk roses on her grave.  I stood there and asked, "Where are you?"  I don't want her to suffer for all of eternity.  But it's too late... too late to change the outcome... it's been decided, what ever it may be.  I realized I had been looking for proof of an intimate relationship with God as I thumbed through the pages of several bibles found in her house.  I found notes for medicines for her mother.  I found song lyrics of some of her favorite old country and western songs.  But I did not find what I was looking for... evidence, proof.  It was too late to worry about it now.  And I wondered if I was at fault.  Did I give up too easily last year?  Was it too easy for me to tell myself that she was too far gone and she was already unreachable?  Could I have made a difference in the outcome of where she is now? 
Don't think that in me saying that that I am assuming that she is in torment.  What I am saying is that IF that's where she is, could I have influenced a change in That outcome?  Did I give up too easily and walk away?  I pulled a yellow rose from her bouquet and took it with me.  It's still laying on the dash of my car.
When the cousins got over to her house, we talked.  I told them that I was feeling twinges and as I started trying to share with them all that I've just written here, I choked up and began weeping... or, I refer to it as leaking.  Gay spoke up and told me that she had watched me from the first day dig and search through every piece of paper, every photograph.  She said she knew what I was looking for - proof, evidence, something to indicate that she did care about me.  When she said that, I couldn't contain my emotion.  Gay said that her advice to me was to let it go.  I would not find the proof that I so desired and craved.  It simply was not there.  And, she's right.  It's not there.  There are so few photos of me and even the letter I wrote to her last year has not been found, yet there are letters dating back in the 40's and receipts for her ice cream dating two years ago or longer!  Receipts for ice cream and no evidence of me?  That  hurts.  But she's right.  I already knew... I knew when I lived with her, I knew when I was still influenced by her though living apart, I knew when I visited her last year, I knew before the reading of the will.  This comes as no surprise.  Still, the fact remains that it is a fact and it hurts.  But there's so few photos of Any of her family - whether me, her own parents, brother, nieces, cousins.  There were thousands of photos of her dogs and hundreds of photos of her.  No family portraits hung on the wall unless they were of her.  No frame photos anywhere with the exception of one framed photo of her mother's sister on the bedside table in the back bedroom.  Albums full of photos of either her or her dogs or both.  Stacks and stacks of photos of her and of her dogs. 
So, there are occasionally tears of grief.  Grief that I meant so little to her.  Grief that, what could have been never was and now it's too late.  As I found more evidence of her influence on my life (our handwriting is almost identical, we shared the same taste in house robes, some jewelry and some other similarities) I had to deal with those things as now evidence of her influence on me... but it's also evidence of my desire to be accepted and loved by her... in other words, despite every effort (often deliberate) not to, I loved her.  And... then there were tears.

No Tears

It's no secret that I have not posted in quite some time.  The move is not completely over - it's being quite drawn out and that drawing out was contributing to my frame of mind that prevented me from posting.  I had just determined to fight that frame of mind more aggressively and not allow depression to defeat me when I got the call.  My friend had found Norma Jean's obituary in the paper.  I was stunned into silence.  I had not taken the call because when I'm depressed I don't feel like talking to anyone so I didn't answer my phone.  But I checked my voice mail that she had left me and sat stunned... but, no tears. 
I called her back later and got the information as to where she was taken.  I called for information regarding her services.  When I asked why they said there may not be any services, they said it was due to not being able to find her next of kin.  I told them that I knew her brother had died in 2003 and she had no other siblings.  But he had three daughters and I did not know their last names or where they lived.  Later I called back and reluctantly confessed that I might be her next of kin if still considered her adopted daughter.  They took my contact information and gave me the contact information of two of her nieces.  I called and the one known to me as Sissy called back on a conference for her older sister, Gay, herself and me.  We had about a one and a half hour reunion over the phone.  When they asked what had happened between me and their aunt - I gave them the condensed version but also gave a couple of examples of why the court took me away from her.  They were so apologetic, so compassionate, understanding and seemed to know (though not of the specifics) that it had to be something bad.  Their family had known her as crazy Jean for a long time and used to laugh about it.  Until they got older and started noticing that she was mean, cruel, vindictive and loved to torment everyone, including them and their dad (Norma Jean's own brother).  We shared memories and experiences, and for Norma Jean, there were no tears.
We began the process of going through her house looking for a will.  We found it on the first day.  But the process was slow and it makes sense that the will was found by my Daughter who wasn't taking so long, reading every note she wrote, looking at every photo for much longer than a glance.  We were looking at her life, pieces of it that we found stacked, tucked and strawn all over the house.  We were talking and sharing memories of their aunt and for several years of my life, my... my... my momma.  When one found a large bag full of jewlery just before we decided to call it quits for the day, I told them I was eager to sort throught that bag.  I wanted to see if I could find the wedding rings I'd accussed her of stealing from me 33 years ago.  I described to them how the rings looked.  Then as my Daughter and I drove home it occurred to me that for Norma Jean, there still had been no tears.
Gay called me shortly after we got home.  They had found the rings - my wedding rings stolen 33 years earlier.  While Steph and I were driving home, they went by the funeral home.  The funeral director gave them an envelope containing what she had on her when she died.  When they poured out the contents, they recognized by my description, the rings to be my wedding rings.  Two of her nieces and I met at the attorney's office the next morning before going back over to her house again, repeating the process of looking at every piece of paper, no matter how small, reading everything, looking at every photo and sorting through her belongings.  More memories, more stories shared, and still no tears for Norma Jean.
The next day was Saturday.  We were having graveside services for her at 10:00 a.m. and agreed to meet there and forego sorting through her belonging for one day.  We were more than surprised at the turn out at her funeral.  More family members showed up from Richland Springs and San Saba.  They reintroduced themselves to me.  I had felt duty-bound, being considered the daughter, to greet those who had pulled up behind us at the cemetary (we were waiting there to determine where to go as no one knew where her plot was located).  I was amazed at the reception I received from those family members.  There was no accusation, no judgement, no shame on you for abandoning her all these years - as though, they too knew.  She had neighbors show up at her funeral - who were blatantly judgmental, rude and accusatory, not just of me but of all of her family.  From them, I saw tears.  But from her family members, I glanced around, and there still were no tears for Norma Jean.