Grief cake for all...

My grandmother died on Tuesday after a three month battle with just about everything they could throw at an 79 year old woman... chest infection, a minor stroke, stomach cancer, a major stroke, another chest infection which then lead to pneumonia and her death.

I got to see her on Sunday afternoon, for which I am glad. She was very weak, but alert and actively participating in the conversation. I was shocked to hear she had died two days later. I really thought she would kick on, and be around for a lot longer.

Work have been extremely supportive. Days off approved. Flowers, chocolates, indoor plants, cards all bought and given in kindness.

The funeral was today. A full catholic mass. I was asked to read one of her favourite passages.

The wake was at the community centre in her retirement village. Cakes, slices and sandwiches to help the grieving and/or happy memories flow. I smiled and talked to a mix of relatives and old ladies as they expressed their grief and sorrow at losing a loved one.

So why do I feel like an impostor in this process? It's not like I don't care that I've lost my grandmother, but it feels like I've just been going through motions, because that's what a good grandson does.

I haven't cried, I haven't wailed, I haven't punch a wall in anger at the unjustness of it all (as some of my cousins have reportedly done). I have just gone through the motions of telling people and acting appropriate manner of a person in grief.

I'm just too caught up in grieving for myself, to really care about anyone else right now.

I fucking love you too Grandma...

So my grandmother has been hospitalised for the past nine weeks and I went up for my first visit last night (she's a fair distance away)... I expected some grief over the lack of visits, but what I got was some down-right passive-aggressive bitchery.

Some gems over the hour included;

"You're balder than your poor dead grandfather"
"You've gotten fat"
"Is the hair you've got left going grey?"
"You should really do something about your double chin"

She's always been tactless, but she usually reserves that kind of vitriol for the grand daughters.

Can't wait to visit her again... not.

Kids say the darndest things...

A story as told by my 3 year old niece at day care this morning;

"Uncle Ben used to be very fat. But then they took him to the hospital, and took out the baby. I'm not his baby because I'm not a baby anymore. His baby might be a puppy but I don't know."

Fairly pissed myself laughing when my sister told me...

A phone conversation I didn't want to overhear...

I got to sleep in today. Yay for sleep ins! So when I rolled out of bed at 11:00am, I was feeling fresh and relaxed and oh-so-happy. It makes a nice change from the grumpy, cranky, desperately-in-need-of-a-few-more-hours-sleep Benji that appeared out of my room all week.

So I chucked on some shorts and an un-ironed Tee, found my havvies and headed up to the servo to grab the Sunday Mail (hardly worth the walk, but I like to read something as I have my morning coffee).

As I was getting close to the gates of my complex (there's about 50 or so townhouses and we're right at the back) I saw one of the cute young guys that seem to inhabit the place pacing up and down outside his unit.

When I got closer I could see that he was on his mobile and was having a friendly chat. "... So it was a big night then? Yeah sounds like fun. Sorry I missed it."

Sounded just like a normal morning after debrief between mates where one didn't get their act together in time, so missed out on some of the night's entertainment.

Been there, done that.

But the conversation continued...

"Hey, um, the reason I called is that my mum died last night, and I can't make it today."

My heart sunk for the poor guy. From the way his tone changed, this wasn't the first person he'd told today, and there was potentially a lot more that he needed to call. His voice cracked a little bit, but I didn't hear anything else because I sped up to give him his space.

It's the type of phone call that I fear having to make. I've been very lucky in my life that I haven't experienced much death. I've only been to four funerals, and they, of course, were not much fun at all.

When my maternal grandfather died from a massive heart attack a few years ago, I was the first of the three children to make it back to mum and dad's place after hearing the news. I walked in to hear mum on the phone to someone relaying that exact same conversation.

When I looked at her phone book she was only up to the D's, so she still had a long way to go. But you could hear that from the tone of voice that she'd relayed the bad news many times, and that she had already become versed in accepting people's condolences and kind wishes.

After she ended that call and we had a bit of a cry together, she asked me to help call some of her friends, as she couldn't face telling those ladies.

So I made the call to her three best friends. It was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. How do you tell a casual acquaintance that some one has died suddenly? I'm not sure how the words came out of my mouth, but I got the message across.

I still remember Caroll (who is my favourite non-aunty 50 year old woman) immediately becoming suspicious when she answered the phone;

"You never call me. What's wrong? Shit, is your dad OK?" she asked. When I explained what had happened and that mum needed some help with the calls she said, "Fuck! Tell her she's a stupid bitch and I'm coming over now to help". (You can see why I like this woman).

And she barrelled through the front door 10 minutes later with two bottles of wine and promptly took mum out the back to have a chat.

I didn't have to make anymore calls after that, and I hope its a long time before I ever have to make another one. My folks are still young, but you can't pretend its never going to happen.


As I walked back down from the servo with my paper and a bottle of coke zero, I saw the cute guy sitting on the bench outside the pool gate. Just sitting, staring.

I caught his eye and gave him a nod and a smile, and he smiled back. But you could see in his eyes that he was hurting.

Then his phone rang, and he had to start it all again.

You're OK with my naturist lifestyle right?

Well my long and often deadly search for a new place to live has finally come to an end.

OK, so it wasn't that long a search. I only spent about three hours checking out listings on line (avoiding the one that stated "I'm a nudist and expect you to be the same"), and actually only visited three places, so it wasn't too taxing.

House one was nice - he was straight, muscle-bound and very chatty. He slipped into conversation that he was at Global Gathering the weekend before and completely off his chops. That immediately put my hackles up - I could imagine him being an angry violent man when he comes down off his drug binges, and I don't want to live like that. Plus his house had a funky smell to it.

House two was just a dump. Horrible wallpaper, horrible yard, horrible bathroom and kitchen. I think the girl knew it wasn't for me. I didn't stick around very long.

House three was the best - 3 bedroom town house with air con and a pool. Pay TV and broadband internet included in the rent and a nice long-term gay couple to share with. I instantly got a good vibe off them and we chatted for almost an hour.

And Jesus actual likes me this week, because house three have accepted me as their new housemate and I move in on the 20th.

I'm very relieved that I've found somewhere. Now the cleaning and packing beings in earnest.

But the sad thing about all of this that my poor puppy has to go live with my parents again. Mum isn't too pleased about it, but I think dad is secretly happy to have her back. Though she drives me insane sometimes with her digging and whining, she's my pup and I love spending time with her. But she'll have more company with my semi-retired parents around the house all day.

It'll be a sad day when I drop her off and leave her behind.

I hear there's a bar where men dance with men. Isn't that adorable?

My brother and his family drove down from Brooweena on the weekend, and my sister and her family drove up from the coast on Sunday so that put 5 little girls and 7 adults in one small Ipswich house for the afternoon. Needless to say, it was a loud, messy fun afternoon.

My brother has three girls - Emma, 6, Catherine, 4, and Sarah 3, while my sister has two little girls - Jessica, 3 and Kaitlyn 12 weeks. There shall be no more grandchildren from either sibling and that means no grandsons. My mother is still mourning that fact since I came out.

I love these girls to death. I'm the crazy uncle that has taught them all to "pull my finger". I pick their noses. I grab them by the ankles and throw them on the couch which they bounce off, hit the floor hard and then ask for it again. I sneak them pieces of grandma's chocolate slice from the fridge and then run out the back yard with them to scoff it down before anyone works out what we've done. I stir them up, make them all hyper and when they start playing up, I just give them back to their parents. But they do sleep well after a day with Uncle Ben.

In one of our quieter moments on Sunday afternoon, I was sitting with Emma on the lounge reading the paper (she likes to read out the headlines), when we eventually came to the weddings section. And she asked, "Where's your wife Uncle Ben?". Before I could answer she added, "You don't really want a wife do you?"

Was she intimating that she knows I'm gay? Has she heard my brother and his wife talking about my coming out? Hardly the case, as he only speaks to complain when they're out of beer.

She's a smart little thing (she practices her writing by transposing paragraphs out of novels - I got a hand written part of Schindler's List in the mail the other day), so I'm guessing she's just put two and two together and come up with the logical conclusion that I don't want to get married. She may not have worked out the gay part, but I wouldn't put it past her.

I didn't want to lie to her, but seeing as she's only six, I think she's far too young to have to start grappling with the complexities of sexual attraction, so I just told her, "Nope, I don't want a wife at all."

But it does raise some other concerns for me. They live in a small country town (only 270 or so people) and I'd hate for her or her sisters to let it slip one day about Uncle Ben's boyfriend or something and get bullied or ridiculed over it at school. Lets face it, small towns don't have the best reputation for acceptance and tolerance, do they? And I'd hate for the girls to have to deal with shit because of me.

I suppose that's one of the reasons why I held out in telling my parents for so long as well - I didn't want my actions to cause any grief for them with their friends and family. One of Dad's brother's is extremely bigoted (he hates the "chinks" that run the post office, and the "damn abbo's" at the pub all the time) - so how will he react when he finds out Dad has raised a poofter?

And my grandmother is just as bad - she made one of my cousins cry when she asked her why she's dating a "slopey-eyed chink". Yes he's Asian, but he happens to be a doctor and treats her with so much respect and adoration (and he's hot as too).

I probably am over thinking this way too much, but they're my family. I don't want anything bad to happen to them. Ever.