And you really did nail the way Gramma exemplified family values.  She expressed an unconditional love, and a willingness to speak the truth, that few achieve.  Gramma was an amazingly generous woman, and wished most of all for each of us to be happy.  She was always happiest when surrounded by family, especially if she was cooking. 

The gnawing ache in my head started when I read the obituary - the usual stuff about who has survived the deceased.  The Giant's name was not there, of course.  And you were accurate when you introduced your "oldest grandchild."  I was honored when, at the last minute, you asked the Giant to be a pall-bearer - and he was honored, too.  But my pain escalated when I heard you thank the Giant for coming, "even though he didn't have to attend."

I know it doesn't matter that I've parented the Giant for more than 15 years, or that Gramma cooked for the Giant the times we went to visit her at her last apartment.  After her 100th birthday party, when the crowd had gone home, she insisted that the Giant eat her chili and dinner roll because she said she'd already eaten too much cake.

I know it probably wouldn't have mattered if I had legally adopted the Giant - you probably wouldn't want that to be legal anyway, in the same way that you don't want my marriage to Raven to be legal.

But you spoke so eloquently of family, and there I was, surrounded by so many people to whom I'm related, people who have influenced my life profoundly.  In losing Gramma, I've lost another one.  And I found myself wishing, wishing, wishing that the Giant would have had the benefit of such an intelligent, interesting, varied group of family - scientists and doctors and dentists and musicians and travellers.  And I found myself grieving a whole other loss.

I was at another funeral last month.  One of my best friends from college lost her partner of 20 years.  I saw my friend collapse in tears, and her partner's mother wrapped her in a tight embrace.  Her partner's brother wept with her.  And I couldn't help but think - if I lost Raven, where would you be?  If Raven and the Giant lost me, where would you be? 

On the way home, the Giant appreciated your thanks.  He figured you meant "a 17-year-old guy probably has better things to do than go to an old lady's funeral."  I said he was probably right.  I tried to probe to see if he had any hurt feelings about the whole thing, without making my issues his problem. 

He seems fine.  The Giant hasn't known you any other way, I suppose.  I guess I can respect your honesty.  You haven't mis-represented yourself to him or to Raven.

But I remember a few years ago, when you asked if you could pray with us before we left some family gathering.  You said to God, "please bless this family."  You were referring to me, Raven, and the Giant.

Later, I asked you why the change in terminology - I'd never heard you refer to us as a family.  You said that you'd realized that God decides what makes a family.  So I guess that means that Raven and I and the Giant can be a family - just not your family.

I have no desire to slap you silly, or cause yet another rift in our already egg-shell-walking relationship.  Like you, I am a peace maker, and am choosing not to puke my bile on you personally.  Instead, I’m writing this.  Bile is bitter, and I’m tired of swallowing it.

But for now, I will give it more time - you're an only child, and you just lost your Mom.  I will pray for more grace.  And perhaps, like Gramma, I will find a way to express an unconditional love, and a willingness to speak the truth.  

I love you, Dad.  Perhaps I will someday understand family values.

Owl