Blood is Thicker than Corn
There is no mourning when a family comes together
This is not a sad story — although it certainly started as one.
My great-grandparents would only be buried together. My great-grandfather died first; it took great-grandma seven years to catch up with him. When she finally died, we mourned, packed up, and flew her home for their joint funeral service.
She talked about Iowa a lot. Iowa was where my paternal family had taken root and buried itself deep into the community. Iowa was where she and great-grandpa had met.
It was where he built their house, where she had my grandpa. My grandpa had met my grandma there and, many years later, I was baptized in the same church they all got married in.
It was where everything started. It only made sense that things would end there.
It’s crazy to say but until we touched down, I was certain Iowa was only ever going to be a fairytale. It wasn’t real. In the darkened airport, my brother and I made corn puns to pass the time. Iowan children were called kernels, dumb stuff like that. We were just nervous.
Who were we going to meet?
And God, how awkward was it going to be?
I met my aunt and uncle — terms used here only because they’re easier to explain and because I now consider them more family than actual aunts and uncles — in a bar, surrounded by their biker gang. I was skeptical at first. These people were related to my great-grandma?
I watched them smoke and laugh at my parent’s jokes. I watched my mother smile for the first time in days and my dad finally relax. Even my brother would crack the occasional smile.
The next day, I met their daughters, one of whom lived right next door to them. The eldest lived just down the street and soon, I was babysitting her kids.
Then the day of the funeral came. The church that meant so much to my family was where the service took place. I looked around and saw my aunt, wearing a brightly colored dress and daring anyone to shame her for it. My uncle smelled like beer and cigarettes when he hugged me and told me not to cry.
Back in Iowa, I realized that this was what family was. People who could understand and acknowledge that you were gone for seventeen years, but still greet you and welcome you home as if you had never left.
I lost a great-grandmother this year, but gained an entire family in return as her last gift to me. It was the best thing she left me with.
