Today is my brother's memorial service. I've been agonizing over what to wear since yesterday morning. Navy dress or plaid pants? Hmmmm.
This death feels so weird to me. In some ways, it feels like Greg has been gone for a while. And then again, it feels like I can call him and he'll answer the phone. I haven't let myself really think very hard about him except in death, or look at pictures of him or anything like that. Tia says that I bury my pain. I don't know if that is. There is just a weird funk around this that I can't identify. And when I'm trying to not thing about Greg, thats when the little things force me to. Here is just a list of examples of these "traces of Greg" that have been coming up all around me the last couple days:
1. Driving in Tanya's car (who, by the way, is being wonderful), I reached out for a piece of gum, and it was Extra; the brand Greg chewed constantly.
2.Sitting at the Golf Dome, talking to my friends, when "Rearranged" comes on. The only Limp Bizkit song Greg liked and the one he suggested I download.
3.Reached in my dad's cupboard to get a coffee cup and there is a mug with The Far Side on it. Greg owned every Far Side book.
4.Going through clothes on my bedroom floor. Sorting into piles clean and dirty. Underneath the clothes is the chapstick Greg gave me last summer when my lips were wicked chapped.
Thats all I can remember at 9 in the morning, but I'm sure there will be more. Especially today. I just don't want people to always think "Katie's crazy brother died". Because he wasn't always the way he was before he died. That only started after my mom passed away. Sure, he was always neurotic and over-obsessive about certain things, but he was also really cool! He had an ENORMOUS music collection and listened to a lot of 90's and 80's music, mixed in with some recent alternative. He always introduced us to cool songs and bands.
He always had really sweet sunglasses. We always made fun of him for spending so much money on sunglasses b/c it is a family tradition to lose or break them. He wore rugby shirts mostly and he always wanted a Tigger rugby shirt, for some odd reason.
His house was like a museum--filled with delicate trinkets and captivating memoribilla. He had an awesome pool table and a slot machine. Oh and a porshe. He was real big into thrill rides and he was the first person to introduce me to roller coasters at Cedar Point. He knew I was scared, but forced me to face it and after that, I fell in love.
He said things like "Smeliott" for Eliott and "Katie-Kins" for me. He traveled A LOT. He went to Austrailia, Figi, Aruba, Russia, Greece, and Barcelona to name a few. He went to the Naval Academy in Annapolis and those were his best years, he says. His ashes are there now. He worked in the Pentagon for Naval intellegence, but none of us know what he did there. He was extremly brilliant. Maybe too brilliant.
I'm looking forward to his memorial. I don't think it will be sad. I think it will be a celebration of his life.
Well, this entry is ending awkwardly and I don't feel like trying at it anymore.