My Grandma died. I think it was sometime last night / this morning, about the time I was posting a link to two chinese college students lip sync'ing to Back Street Boys.
My mom called me just after I'd fallen asleep to tell me. I was out of it, half asleep, and almost no cognitive functions at all. I think once she realized that I wasn't going to be able to think for a while, she told me she'd call me or give me more details later.
They're making funeral arrangements already, and wanted to know if I was going to fly out, or not. I know my Mom would love to see me right now. I know this is hard for her, but she's got my step-dad right now as well. The good step-dad, not the bad one.
It's weird though.
I think that I'm broken, inside, and I've been that way for a long time.
Because, I don't feel anything. I mean, there's the knowledge that I'll never see my Grandma again. A kind old woman that I lived with through a major portion of my high school years. But I don't feel sad. I just... don't feel.
I've often held the belief that, I probably wouldn't cry for anyone, except my mother, my father, and my brother. It originally was just sort of a flippant remark kind of statement of fact that I thought I'd figured out over the years, after losing so many friends from moving all the time. I think I sort of learned to live with the fact that everyone goes away, and many times they never come back, even if they don't die, you just never see them again. In the end though, it seems to be true. I don't think I'll cry over my Grandma's passing. I don't think I'll mourn either. Tomorrow, for me at least, will be just another day like any other day, and I'll have my own issues to attend too. That may be fucked up and insensitive, but that's what I am. Fucked up, and desensitised.
Most people I know, have deep friendships, deep bonds, and hold you in their thoughts when you're not there. If you severed these bonds, and moved away, or died, it would wound them deeply. I think if you grow up in that environment, the pain hurts all that much more. I think this is altruism for both emotional and physical pain. Repeated exposure to pain dulls the effect, and makes you immune to it. Scars build up into a kind of protection. Your body builds defenses, both emotional and physical, in an attempt to adapt.
My mom recently asked me if she ruined me. I'm not sure what she meant, or how she meant it. I'm not sure what brought it up either. I have been doing some thinking about it though now.
Like I said, I think I'm fucked up. At least emotionally. I don't think it's a good thing or a bad thing. I think it's just that my emotional development was taken down a path less traveled than the rest of the United States. I say the US, because it's not the rest of the world, and I'm pretty sure that the emotional development of the rest of the world is as varied from our norms as can be, and that I'm far from any sort of statistical anomaly in regards to world averages.
I don't think it's my mom's fault, or my father's fault, or anyone's fault that I am the way that I am. I don't even think that's the way to describe it. Fault implies that there's something wrong with the way that I am, and while I think it's a deviation from the way most of the people I know are, I don't think it's any worse or better. Just different. I'm different. Some people can feel emotional attachment, commitment, longing, and the sorrow of loss. I can't, at least not for most of the people in this world. On the other hand, while being immune to the pains that those things can bring, I'm also without most of the joys that those bonds can hold.
In the end, I think Grandma will do just fine, with or without my tears, or my mourning.
I wish her the best in whatever lies ahead of her, in the mean while, I've got my fucked up life to keep living.