Part of the process

My grandmother died on Saturday night.
We'd been estranged for years for reasons too numerous to count.

I learned of her passing via Facebook, thanks to the singular cousin I have on that side of the family.
My father and Uncle, men who excel at sniping at each other and using my sister's celebrity as a lightning rod for their own brand of childish behavior, never reached out to me.

I'm angry.
At them. At her. At myself.
I'm just...so so angry.

Wednesday is the Wake/Mass/Funeral. In the past I've darkly joked about making a spectacle at the goings on, but I'm just too tired and too angry to function at that level of dramatics.

Instead I've called the funeral home for a private viewing, because I'd like to see her before she completely disappears from my life forever. I'll bring flowers, so my presence will be felt in my absence.
And then I'll reach out to my cousin. See if I can't forge some sort of relationship with him going forward.

As luck would have it, I have a shrink appointment on Thursday. Can't wait to hear what he has to say about all of this.

The dysfunction of my family has stopped being a humorous anecdote and sharply turned down a path of pathetica toxicity.

Insult to injury is how her name is misspelled in the Obituary.
I'm just...so so angry.