So there I was, again, in the little town where I grew up, with a funeral to deal with and no funeral clothes. I found out my father was dead Jan. 7, 1998, basically the same way, but at a hospital. At least the nursing home staff was able to tell me my grandmother had died. The hospital staff could only tell me to meet my family at home. But I knew.

Thank you to everyone who wished for a quiet passing. That's what she had. She just stopped breathing. She had fought hospital staff all day Monday, spitting pills and food across the room, and she told the Baptist minister who had taken her hand to pray that she was going to hit him over the head with a stick of stove wood. Then Mom thinks that she must've had a stroke that night. She didn't eat, drink, or move much for the next two days.

Mom thought it was just a matter of time, and she had not wanted her to die alone. Mom was there with her when she went. She was there when my father died, too, but that was not a gentle passing. I hope this is the last death she has to deal with for a long, long time.

So, I walked into Mom's house and into all of the traditions of death in the South. Longtime friends coming to bring food and sit and talk and ask if they can do anything. Some parts were stressful, others kind of nice. One nice bit was meeting Kenny, the son of one of my grandmother's caretakers. Even though he has a young son (his wife deserted him and left him with the boy), he set off my gaydar in a big way. A sweet country fag in the manner of Michael Jeter, but younger, bigger and slightly butcher. That Tennessee Vols letterman jacket wasn't fooling me one bit. I liked him a lot.

I also enjoyed talking to my 6th grade science teacher who is my mom's sometime travel and birdwatching buddy and who takes classes with Mom at a university nearby. She let me know in a pretty ham-handed way that she appreciated and enjoyed knowing a "diverse" group of people�heavy on the diversity.

My neice and nephews (all teenagers) liked the car and appreciated the rides they got.

What was bad was that Deb couldn't come up to be with me. I really missed her. My lesbian sister had her girlfriend there, and of course my straight sister had her husband with her, though I feel sorry for him because she is pretty much flat-out mean and rude to him. She told me again that she wants a wife like mine.

Found out that a family friend might live out in Grouse's neck of the world. I never got her current married name, though, so I don't know if I'll be able to give him much of a clue.

The Baptist minister who conducted the service (yes, the threatened by a stick of stove wood guy) was pretty subtle by Baptist standards, so we were happy with him. Mom is totally ticked off that her Presbyterian congregation has not made any effort or offer to help or support her in the last five years while she took care of my grandmother. When they called, Mom was like, "What do I need them for now if they didn't want to help when I really needed it?" The Presby. minister stopped by during the visitation and was way too chipper and casual. My mother completely lost any faith she had when my dad died, and the only reason she had a service at all was out of respect for one of the caretakers who is very religious.

I left earlier than I normally would have on Sunday because Deb wanted me home, but when I got there, she was out shopping. That set off a weird sort of mood swing in me that had me cranky and critical of her for a while before I evened out again. Coming back to the ranch after that much time with my family is always sort of a culture shock. It's such a completely different world in Tennessee.