Friday the 13th gets a bad rap. Legend says that
it was the day that the King Philip IV of France betrayed the Knights Templar.
Then there is always Jason Voorhees—enough said. Really, before a book came out
in 1907 (Friday the Thirteenth – Tom Lawson,)
the date did not have really bad implications. Fridays were generally
considered bad luck days. A person never started a long journey on a Friday. In
middle ages Europe, Friday was called Hangman’s Day (apparently it was a day
for swinging on the gallows.) The bad luck associated with the number 13 is
only mentioned in the apocryphal tale that Judas Iscariot was the 13th
person invited to Jesus’ last supper.
Until this past Friday, July 13, the whole bad luck day phenomenon
had passed by me. It was just a day. On this day, however, this particular
Friday the 13th, my grandmother slipped her mortal coil and
graduated from her Earthly life. It was a sadness and a relief (cancer usually
brings such mixed emotion.) It was not the worst thing that could happen to her
or anyone. We are all going to die, and she fought for life until the last
moment.
No, it was the total collapse of trust that I have in my family.
That trust had been eroding for a decade, but that day saw the end of trust. It
was as if the last chain that held my aunts, uncles, and cousins to my life had
broken. They acted in a callous manner, denying that anyone had any right to
claim that they shared a love with my grandmother. Cutting off my side of the
family from being able to attend a viewing and open casket funeral. Her body
will be cremated and shipped to Colorado for a memorial—and interred without
any sort of ceremony.
Ok, I admit to not handling the situation well on my end. I
very bluntly told my aunt (who conveyed their plans for a funeral service so
rushed that I would never be able to make it to Phoenix in time) that this was
all a bit hasty. I told her in a text that I totally got the hint (something I
am not good at, btw.) I get that we are not to be a part of
mourning/celebrating my grandmother’s life with her family. It was a private
moment for them only. The link between us broke, and we no longer had a blood
connection. We were done.
My uncle responded that he was fine with that, and I should
never contact his wife again. To ensure that I complied with his order, I
unfriended anyone from their side of the family on Facebook, and deleted all of
their numbers from my phone. Maybe it was a tad bit reactionary, but I know
where I am not wanted. Still, now I have to deal with grief, loss, sadness, and
an anger for which this writing is my only outlet.
So for the first time, Friday the 13th wreaked
its havoc in my life.
From what could have been a poignant and sad moment of
relief and love, it become a life altering event filled with anger and
resentment. An event where I find myself even more isolated than I ever was
before that day. Well played, Friday the 13th…well played.
