For Generations to Come

Dedicated to my grandmother. My Baba. It's been five years, and her memory is still so fresh.


Excuse the general errors in this text. I haven't revised it in a very long time and the spacing was ruined in pasting this.




I still remember the events that lead up to her funeral. I don’t remember everything clearly, I
remember it as much as you’d remember the story of a silent movie after having just watched it.
My father was driving us all back from a weekend out at the camp. The four of us, my Dad and I,
my Dad’s friend Paul, and my back-then crush. We traveled the rocky roads that swirled up dust
behind us. We followed the winding roads with beautiful lakes and pine speckled hills scattered
alongside it. We were all clueless as to how our lives in the city changed while we merrily sang
tunes to the radio, and discussed the weekend’s events. We reached Capreol, my hometown, and
drove through it’s back streets and side streets finally reaching my Mom’s house. I don’t
remember why we decided to visit her, maybe just to say hello, or pick something up. We
approached the house and pulled into the drive way. The house was pale yellow with plastic
siding, and a dingy old carport that looked as though it could collapse any minute. We had to go
to the side door to knock because the front door hasn’t been used in years, something about
tracking dirt into the house. There was a note on the door. It looks hastily written and stuck on
there by a small piece of tape. The writing was messy and there was a frowny face quickly
sketched onto the note. “Gone to Sudbury” it reads, “will call you later”. Somehow she was
expecting us, and we feel this sign can’t be good. Our minds first go to my grandmother, hoping
she’s in good health. The happiness we felt on the drive here is merely a faint memory now. Our
throats have tightened up, and our hearts have sunk into our stomachs. We pull out of the
driveway and head back to the city. The car is stricken by silence and the day’s tone has changed
from bliss, to panic. We’re all worried something’s happened. My Baba was very ill. She had
managed to run and escape her age for so long now, that it was only a matter of time before it
caught up with her. We all knew it was coming, every year we would say “This might be Baba’s
last Christmas”, as if I’m supposed to enjoy it more than I already did. Even though back then I
hated Christmas, I now know it’s only once you lose something, that you realize how important it
was to you. We’ve reached the apartment that my Dad and I live in, and we bring our bags to the
elevator. But somehow they feel heavier now than they did when we first loaded them in the
truck. “2" I say as I push the button and the elevator door closes. “Baba’s a good woman. I hope
she’s okay.” my Dad says as the elevator brings us to our floor. We navigate the hallways an
eventually reach our door. “208" it reads. With a sigh, we open the door and walk inside. With
barely enough time to even put our bags on the floor, the phone rings. It sounds different, it
sounds louder, it sounds urgent. We all jump as it rings, and swallow our stomachs as my Dad
reads the caller display “It’s Mom.” he says to me as he picks it up. “Hello! Is everything
alright?” I stand beside my Dad while he’s on the phone and look at him eagerly for any signs of
anything at all. “Oh she did? It finally happened.” I recognize this response, my heart sinks and I
stare my Dad down hoping I’m not right. His face slowly melts into a frown, and I see his adams
apple jump with a gulp. “That’s it, she’s really gone. I didn’t get to say goodbye, nobody did.” I
think to myself as I walk to my room. My new crush is looking at me perplexed, and I collapse
on my bed saying “My Grandma just died.” Somehow hearing my own voice say it made it more
real and I start crying uncontrollably. But suddenly my social anxiety kicks me in the butt and I
realize some strange boy is watching me cry. “You should go home” I tell him. He looks at me
confused again. “Are you sure?” he asks me. “Yeah I’d rather be alone right now.” After much
debate about whether I should be alone or not, he gives in and agrees to leave me alone to sulk.



Her funeral however is much harder to remember. Her shell, that doesn’t even look like her, in an
open casket and I’m amidst the chaos of strange people and new faces. I never knew it was
possible to feel so alone around so many people.



When we arrived at the funeral home, the hosts greeted us with fake smiles, and false gestures of
compassion and understanding. “We’re just a number to them.” I thought to myself as I observed
the fancy black suit the woman was wearing, and the shiny tuxedo the older man had on. “Oh and
please if there’s anything you need at all, or anything wrong, let us know right away!” the woman
said enthusiastically. My Mom just eyeballed her, tossed a fake smile at her and said “Okay,
thank you.” “She’s right this way” says the woman, gesturing towards a door on the side of a
huge, glorious, well lit hallway. She pulls it open, and we all walk in. My Mom’s brother is there
with his wife and three children, and my mom with my dad, sister and I. We all line up side by
side and perfectly straight. It felt as if this was rehearsed ahead of time and I missed that info.

They all started walking side by side up to my grandmother’s open casket, except me. I didn’t
realize everyone would start walking all at once so I’m a few steps behind. We finally see her
laying there, and the room breaks out into quiet sniffles. My Mom reaches over to put her arms
around my sister and I, trying to blindly navigate through empty space until she realizes that I’m
behind her instead of at her side. We all take our turns approaching the casket, peering in at the
hollow shell that used to be our grandmother, our glue. It’s my turn, and I peek over the edge but
my sadness turns to shock when I see her face. This isn’t my Baba, and if it is, she looks like one
of those cackling women you’d find at the local bingo. Her hair has been brushed over, it’s too
long. I thought she was supposed to have a hat on and combed forwards hair. Her skin looks like
plastic, they put too much makeup on her. She’s got a jabot coming out of the front of her shirt,
she didn’t wear this stuff. She looks like a make-uped mannequin from the 1500's. Disgusted, I
touch her hand, and say my final goodbyes with the image of the Grandma I knew and loved in
my memory. We’re all finished saying goodbye, and friends of the family start to leak into the
room. I remember funerals were different for me before this. I used to love the orange juice they
served, and drink the tea with two sugar cubes, sometimes adding more as I pleased. But now I
have no appetite, no desire to consume anything at all. It’s not a fun place where I can drink
orange juice, it’s now suddenly the most depressing room I’ve ever been in. The funeral hall is
full of guests now, which assures me that my Grandmother was loved by absolutely everyone. I
looked around for someone to talk to, why didn’t I bring my crush? Over in the far corner my
cousin Evan is sitting with some friends. Across the room on two large sofas, my sister is
snuggled up with her boyfriend, and my cousin Jennifer with her boyfriend on the sofa next to
them. “I wish my crush was here” I think to myself. I strut around the room looking for anyone to

talk to and see my cousin Katelyn being chauffeured around the room by her boyfriend and my Aunt and Uncle are of course chit chatting and being social butterflies like they usually are. My Mom is standing in the middle of the room, with a red and puffy face. She’s being approached by friends and acquaintances that offer condolences and good wishes. I stand next to her for a minute or two, and realize I’d be just as invisible elsewhere. My Dad’s around here somewhere, I have no idea where he’s gone. He’d be the best choice of someone to talk to. Why was I told it would be best if I don’t bring my crush, if clearly all the other boyfriends are here? Looking around at the dimly lit corners, comfy sofas and half empty jugs of coffee, juice and tea, I realize nobody is around anymore to tell me I’m not allowed to smoke. My Baba hated smokers, and hated alcohol. Even though my Dad smokes, my Mom smokes, and now I’ve started smoking, we were all told hide it from Baba. We always thought it could be the dirty little secrets that may kill her someday, if she was to ever find out about them.

“Screw it, I’m going outside” I thought. I exit the hall and place my bottom on the front steps. “I don’t care if anyone sees me smoke now. I only hid it for her.” This thought made my eyes well up, and throat tighten. She’s really gone now, and if I light this cigarette right here right now, that’s what officially confirms it. I pull the cigarette out of it’s packaging, pop it in my mouth and flick the lighter with my thumb. Puffing deeply, I feel calmer now. Cigarettes are my only friend

here. “Tsk tsk tsk” I hear from behind me. I jump and turn around to face the unexpected intrusion. It’s my cousin Jennifer and her boyfriend staring down at me. “What?” I chuckle. “You shouldn’t smoke, it’s not good for you.” “No really? I didn’t know that!” I think to myself, but decide to hold back on these words, now is not the time to be rude. Maybe she’s right though, after all I’m only 15 and a full blown smoker already. “I quit a few months ago” she continues. “Oh well good for you.” I respond sincerely. Then there’s the good old awkward silence. It happens often in my family. We exchange a few words, then turn away as if we wish we weren’t in each others presence anymore. Maybe it's just me though. My Dad pops outside now as well, and tells me he’s called his father for a ride home. It makes sense, he has to work in the morning and he’s no longer related to the family since the divorce. Nothing is keeping him here. But I realize if I don’t go home with

him, I’ll probably be begged to spend the night at my Mom’s place, which I hate doing. I butt out my cigarette and head inside to tell her the news. “Dad and I will be leaving soon, Grandpa Emile is coming to get us.” I said as nicely as possible. “I can give you a ride home later.” my Mom says looking at me as if she doesn’t want me to go. “No I’d rather leave now. There’s no one to talk to here.” I respond. “Well you can follow me around if you want. Just stay by my side.” she

says. “No, I’d really rather leave now, I’m sorry.” She looks at me again with sadness, but gives in any ways. “Alright, fine. I love you” she says hugging me tightly and kissing my cheek. “Love you too, bye.” I say, and turn around to walk out. All of a sudden I hear my Mom behind me say “Oh” followed by a profanity, and I turn around to look at where her gaze leads me. My father is struggling with Grandpa Emile to escort him out of the hall. He’s wobbling, and stumbling on his

feet. His eyes glazed over, and he’s smacking his lips as if he’s thirsty. “He’s drunk!” My Mom

says loudly in an angered tone. She turns to me and says “Megan, you don’t have to leave, it’s

not safe.” But I see my Dad exit the hall and I panic thinking he’s leaving without me. “I’ll be

fine. I’ll tell Dad to drive. Call you later.” I say in a rush and run outside. The suns almost set

now, and the cool air of the night is rushing across me. All I’m wearing is a black sleeveless

shirt, and my arms fill with goose bumps. I see my Dad fighting for the keys to the truck, and

finally he rips them out of my Grandfather’s hand. My dad looks at me and says “Megan, I’m

driving, get in.” I hop in the back seat, which is just a tiny little fold out chair that hurts you with

every bump. “Finally, it’s over.” I think to myself as we get onto the highway that head back

towards the city. I rest my head on the window ledge, day dreaming out the window, and thinking of the days events.



Since my Grandmother’s death, my family has ever so rarely gotten together for a birthday or holiday. It feels more like we see eachother because we have to, not because we want to.



My Grandpa Emile’s habits of drinking and driving eventually made him lose control and crash. He sustained a severe head injury and his skull is now permanently deformed. My Uncle, his son, is following in his foot-steps with a one year license ban, and 30 days in jail. Our family is definitely not normal and considering everyone’s boyfriends were at the funeral except mine, considering how I was alone the entire evening, and considering my cousin Jennifer smoked and

I never had a clue, I can now see my family in a different light. Life is a learning experience, and I've learned two things that will forever be true. My grandmother was our glue and I was always the black sheep. The only difference now is that I’m proud to be the black sheep. My grandmother’s legacy can live on in me, because I’ll always remember her for her, not for the way she looked that night we had to say goodbye.
     





-- Property of Megan Guimond, do not redistribute --



...lol you never know.