The Barbeque

The celebration of life memorial potluck barbeque family reunion party gathering was coming to a close. I was too busy catching up with relatives and friends of the family to realize there wasn’t going to be a “memorial.” Not long after it occurred to me I was standing in my sister’s kitchen and my brother shared a conversation with me. He said he was talking to our brother-in-law and said “someone better tell Diane there isn’t going to be a memorial service.” To that I replied, “I certainly didn’t drive two thousand miles in two days for a fucking barbeque.” Everyone laughed. But that’s exactly what I did.

If there had been some sort of public sending off, a blessing, a shared story telling session, who would have facilitated it? I think my years in California and countless “celebrations of life” had me confused with how things are done in my family. I really did imagine there would be chairs set up class room style in the park adjacent to my sister’s house. I really thought we would publicly express our grief and tell stories about how generous and funny and talented she was, and how much she’ll be missed, and what a train wreck she was. That’s what happens at memorials, or celebrations of life, or whatever you call them, isn’t it? Not in my family.

I am still shaking my head at the weirdness of it. People came from all over the country, people who had known Go-Go much of her life, and all of mine. Dottie and Arnie Carpenter came with their daughter Kitty, the one who watched my heel get torn off in the spokes of my sister’s bike, and as it turns out, the one who has a life long crush on my older brother Tom. A bunch of my cousins, my parent's friends from Windsor, friends of my sisters who didn't even know Go-Go came. Roger’s family was there, goofy and strange as ever. Roger’s sister, Aunt Margie could not stop saying “you look just like Pete,” my younger brother. I had a chance to visit with a few of my nieces and nephews and their kids, and that was pretty much the highlight of the day.

When I introduced Trish as my honey, to Go-Go's eighty eight year old sister, Aunt Marian, she put her hand over her mouth and said “ohhhh” but quickly recovered and withdrew her extended hand and reached out to hug her, saying “well, you’re a part of the family then, you get a hug.” I’ve been “out” to my family for thirty years - did my mom never tell her sister? Still, I shake my head at the strangeness.

By midnight everyone was gone and it was over. Trish and I were grateful to spend the night in a tent in my sister’s back yard. It was our first night in the tent and it was glorious to sleep on her cushy lawn and breathe the fresh, clean Midwestern air. With that part of the trip over, we were ready to begin our great road trip adventure.

Photograph by Trish Tunney