Hello fellow adventurers, Greggary Peccary here. Or should I say Eric Benac? It might be time to pull back the facade for a post and be more serious for a moment. I am really in no mood to play the "haha" game of nonsense. I was recently informed by my parents that my grandmother, my mother's mother, has about three days to a week to live. She has been fighting brain cancer for the last six months, and she is losing, and is likely to lose very soon. I am not known, even amongst friends, for wearing my emotions on my sleeve, or being that open with sadness. I prefer to suffer alone. But I think a fitting eulogy for a grandmother I may never see again is in order.
My grandmother is in some ways a very simple woman, but in many other ways very complex. She is deeply, deeply, truly religious, as is my grandfather. Naturally, she attended church every Sunday, but so do a lot of people. The only books in her house were the bible, the Reader's Digest, and various religious writings by people like Billy Graham. My grandparents receive a christmas card every year from Billy's organization, thanking them for their donations to the cause. The only station that plays on their T.V. is generally the religious station, except for when my grandpa wants to watch some football. Before getting irreversibly sick herself, she used to pray for friends and family on the phone, when they were sick, and prayed every day for the health of the nation. Religion wasn't just an aspect of her life, it was the overriding all important aspect. It makes conversation with her hard, because religion is not at all important to me.
My grandmother, however, was not a saint. She didn't smoke or drink once in her life. My grandfather, quite an enjoyer of smoking and drinking before the marriage, quickly followed suit. This was perhaps the most important aspect of my grandmother's personality: her ability to quietly, quickly, and effectively guilt people into her moral guidelines. I didn't experience this much first hand, though I did live with her two years, in the basement, while attending community college. I lament the fact that I interacted so little with her and my grandpa so little during this time, but I was young and stupid, and found it hard enough to make conversation with my friends.
My mother, on the other hand, did experience this first hand. When The Graduate came out, my mother really wanted to see it, hearing about it from word of mouth. My grandmother, however, forbid her seeing it, having heard about it from her sister. And I know my grandmother, and I know the way she would have accomplished this: not through outright forbiding it, but by expressing concern that it wasn't "moral" and worrying out loud about whether or not it was something my mother should see. She'd say this to my mother, probably discuss it with my grandpa, and probably say something along the lines of "oh, you can go see it if you want, I guess, but it just sounds so immoral that I worry about your soul." Or maybe she wouldn't even say that much. She might just, as I have heard her do, just say "ooooooh" in such an obvious dismissive and disapproving way that any argument was rendered pointless. Naturally, this was the way my mother disciplined my sister and I.
However, my mother was much more open minded, and pretty much allowed my sister and I free reign to grow up into whatever we became. My grandmother didn't seem to allow this. Not that this is an unusual thing for somebody to do, especially highly religious people. It's almost a cliche, but it's important to understand how perfectly fitting to this cliche my grandmother is. Naturally, the reaction from her children was also a cliche: general rebellion. My uncle Larry, their one son, ran in a "gang" with some cousins and friends of his, wearing leather jackets, smoking cigarettes, and uh, that's about it. They weren't that wild. He did end up getting married very young, to the same woman he's still married to, but that is neither here nor there. He has retired from a GM factory where he worked as a pipe fitter for most of his life. He has become a mean spirited, racist, bitter man. Or maybe he always was? His children have lead interesting lives: his two daughters, Lisa and Brenda have been married at least twice apiece, maybe more. His son Brian has been in and out of prison most of his life, only recently settling down to become a "stay at home dad."
My mother, I guess, probably came out of it the best: her rebelliousness was pretty mild too. She went to college, got a degree (the only one in her family to do so) partied a little, and has smoked for most of her life. She has quit pretty seriously since my grandmother's diagnosis. I am glad, but at 53, the damage to her might have already been done. My sister and I are not that crazy, but that's only in comparasion to the rest of our cousins.
Her sister, Peggy, probably suffered the most because of her rebelliousness. She has also smoked much of her life, has done some partying, but also suffered a drug related mental breakdown. The story surronding this interesting: her drink was spiked at a party by jealous girls, because Peggy had gained the attention of a boy they liked. Her breakdown was almost entirely complete: my mother told me she basically pulled hair out of her head, screamed, babbled nonsense, cried, and often had to be put into a straightjacket for her own safety. She was this way for nearly a year, a condition perhaps exasperated by the fact that her parent's intital response to this behavior was to think she was possessed, and to pray for her soul. However, when this proved ineffective, it was obviously time for medicine to take over. After she "came out of it" she was never the same, claims my mother. Oh, I mean, she's not insane, or ridiculous, but my mom says her personality had just shifted. She has been married three times, with three kids, the oldest of which seems to be heading towards wildness. She is also retired from that same GM factory, as an electrician.
Aunt Myra, the blonde, has suffered as well. She smoked for most of her life as well, probably still does. She know works as a furniture salesman. This is an improvement over her former career as battered wife. Married once, she learned her lesson. Unfortunately, her children have suffered. My cousin Jason, who used to spend a lot of time at my grandparents, has suffered pretty seriously from past drug and alchol abuse. While he's no longer the barely concious shell he was during those days (he no longer does drugs) he isn't much better off. There is something off in him, even as he goes to college, and gets decent jobs and girlfriend's. A far off look in his eyes is always prevalent, a certain randomness to his speech patterns is continual. His sister Sonya has done much better for herself. She is, I think, a hair dresser, but don't quote me on that. She was never as wild as Jason, and seems to have made it out okay. But then again, I barely know her.
And finally is aunt Marilee, the youngest, and perhaps the strangest. She did not rebel at all, and has lived a long, strictly religious life. She also has thirteen children and a husband, who is well known for his laziness. He posesses, among his children, a cult of personality that definitely frighteningly reminds me of a cult. My cousins are all very talented at certain things, as my uncle had thoughtfully cultivated talents in them that he could throughly exploit. My cousin John, a talented carpenter who started his own business at the age of 18, apparently gives his father fifty percent of all of his profits because he "takes care of the books." Fifty percent! These people are also the sort of people that give christianity a bad name: superficially "glory glory halleluiah" but inside very mean spirted, judgmental, and cruel.
What does this have to do with my grandmother? Surely, I am not suggesting that all of these people, with their difficultlies in life, are a direct result of my grandmother? Of course not. My grandfather was also an influence, maybe. My mom said he was pretty laissez faire with the children most of the time, except for when there had to be punishment. So, she obviously had some role in shaping their lives.
But is it my grandmother's fault that my aunt peggy's drink was spiked at a party? Or that her son is a big stupid racist? Or that her daugther myra married a wife beater? Or that my cousin Brian has been in and out of prison? Or that my cousin Jason is a burn out? Can we lay blame for our faults directly on the door steps of our elders? Can I blame my grandmother, for instance, for my depression and paranoia? Mental illness runs in her side of the family, with schizophrenia, hardcore depression, and paranoia rampant. Was I genetically disposed to these things because of her?
It's impossible to answer this question. I believe in free will, but also understand the influence of genetics. And you can't blame my grandmother's occasional overbearing nature for the ruination or near ruination of many lives. People make choices: many of her children chose to be rebellious and move away from her morality, but isn't that a general aspect of human nature? I have rebelled against most of my parent's beliefs, and they weren't overbearing: they were, in fact UNDERbearing. People usually want to grow and try to be their own person, and they struggle to find the way. As my mother grew up, like now, people often think that this answer lies in boozing, drugging, and fucking, which is of course nonsense. No human being can find true inner meaning in a drug. At the most, it can help a person feel like they have "grown up" because they're doing "grown up" things. Hopefully, then, they'll move out of the ridiculous phase and truly grow up and become their own person. So many people never do.
This question of my grandmother's guilt has been plaguing me since I heard she was dying. I had wondered if there was some culpability in her for the events of her children's and grandchildren's lives. This post makes her seem like she is an awful person, and this is far from the truth. In honesty, she would do anything for anybody for no reward. Besides her prayer, she would often guilt my notoriously cheap grandfather into buying things for her children and grandchildren. Things like cars, beds, helping with rent, computers etc. While this has, in effect, allowed her children to become dependent on her for many things (again, besides my mother) she has done this out of the goodness of her heart. My grandparent's built a two story, five bedroom house for the two of them, so that their grandchildren could have a place to sleep when they came. Everything would be dropped, and the oven turned on, whenever anybody at all came to visit. Like many grandmother's she was a persistent food pusher.
These things aren't highly unusual among grandmothers. Most grandmothers should be this way, and my grandmother was a great example of this. However, there is one thing that I think proves the general decency of her soul. For most of my life, my great grandmother Diamond, my grandma's mother, was alive. However, her mind and body started becoming feeble late in her life, and for the last five or six years of her life, my grandmother took care of her, even as she got progressively worse. This included bathing her every morning, changing her diapers (and my great grandma was a huge woman) getting her in and out of bed, chopping her food up etc. Her great mothering instinct kicked in for her own mother, as she tried to allow my grandmother a decent life even in the autumn of her death. What makes this a truly great show of character was the behavior of my grandmother's sisters. She has two of them, and don't ask me to remember their names. Basically, when it was becoming clear that my great grandmother could no longer take care of herself, there was much discussion about what to do with her. Nobody wanted her to end up in a nursing home. Besides that, they couldn't afford it. So, naturally, my grandma was volunteered to take care of her, and did so without complaining for the rest of her mother's life. When the time came to divide up my great grandma's belongings, it was already too late: everything had been snatched up by her sisters, including the house, all the stuff in the house, and even the thousands of dollars my great grandma had stashed around the house in the freezer, under boards, in pillow cases etc. And my grandmother never complained once. That, I believe, is the greatest showing of her character, her general decency, and her very very christian soul. No she wasn't perfect, and yes she was a nagger, but underneath everything she was one of the truly kindest people I knew. She and my grandfather were the only two people on my mother's side of the family, besides my mother, that I have ever had any interest in visiting.
It will be hard to see her go. I haven't cried yet, it hasn't quite hit me entirely. It didn't hit me, when my grandpa Benac died, until I saw his body in the coffin. The last time I saw her was heartbreaking. She is in a nursing home now. Her hair is shaved back, falling out, disappearing due to chemo. She was weak, almost too weak to move, and definitely unable to stand up. She could barely talk besides a forced out, painful whisper, and could barely swallow. Even if she survives, this is the state she will be in for the rest of her life. Her cancer is "spiderwebbed" throughout her brain, and is impossible to operate on. Even with chemo and radiation, it will only stop the growth of the tumor. So if by some miracle she survives, it won't be for long, and she will be taken care of for the rest of her life.
When she dies, a great human being will have been snuffed out. If there is a heaven, she will race upwords towards it, and I believe she takes comfort in that. I'm glad that she takes comfort in it, even if I don't believe in heaven myself. Let her take comfort in that, if it makes it easier for her. I'd rather see her die happy than afraid.
Eric Benac.
cherryflava
