Dick Clark passed away last week. I didn't care, I never watched that dumb New Year's Eve special, and I only saw reruns of American Bandstand via clips on VH1 or some other nostalgic show. Whitney Houston died a few months ago, and I didn't care either. Michael Jackson kicked the bucket a few years ago and I slightly cared, only because he was such a weirdo, but then after the media coverage exhausted the story, I REALLY didn't care.
The only people we hear about dying are celebrities, and I've just never cared. It may have been interesting for a minute as I reminisced about that person, and the movies/sports/concerts I saw them in, but quickly forgot about it afterward. It was like watching the garbage truck come by every week--interesting for a second, but then I remember it happens every week.
Then my grandma died last month. My mind had been programmed over years of hearing about meaningless deaths to not react very quickly, to not care. After all, we were expecting it, she'd been unwell for years. Also, she was a celebrity to me, someone that I didn't have too many personal conversations with, but I knew a lot about her. I read her book--the Broadbent Family History--which was well-written and entertaining. I watched her lead her 6 children and 44 grandchildren as the matriarch of this tremendous family, demonstrating her role as the leader of the clan quite prominently at each of our family reunions. I admired her, as did all of my siblings and cousins. She was an idol to us, someone that inspired us, someone to emulate, someone that our parents also looked up to, only a small step below the prophet of the church in our eyes. She was funny but spiritual, strict but loving, frugal but generous, a great cook and an enthusiastic story teller. She really was an American idol.
I heard about her death late on Sunday evening, about 12 hours after the news initially broke. I was surprised about the lack of emails from other family members. I'd already decided that I couldn't go to the funeral due to important out-of-town work meetings the day before, and I simply didn't know the protocol for the death of a family member-- logistical, emotional, or otherwise. How was I supposed to react? Of my siblings, I had by far the furthest distance to travel, so what was expected of me? I'm very deliberate, I make my decisions quickly and I stand by them. I wanted to go, but I couldn't, and that was that.
Emails and texts started to come in on Monday, mostly focused on logistics. I responded tersely -- I'm not going, sorry. A little bit of reality had started to hit me, but not much. I was disappointed at myself for not caring more.
A day passed and I read the emails from siblings and others. More and more people were going. Some were making large sacrifices of their money and time, much more than I would have to make. I started to regret my decision, should I be going? This is my grandma, after all! I received a phone call from my dad that day. I couldn't answer, but he left a voicemail. I assumed he would be asking me to come, since all my siblings would be there except Liesl, who was on a mission. When I called him back, we talked about my decision, but he supported me, even if he may have felt otherwise. At this point, I felt very conflicted. Melanie was very supportive, and told me that she didn't want me to have any regrets, but would support me either way.
I left on Wednesday afternoon for my flight to Philadelphia, where my meetings were. At that point, it was too late to make any last minute changes. I called my mom that night to offer condolences, and we had a good conversation. It was then that I felt very strongly that I should have gone to the funeral, but at that point it would have been next to impossible.
The funeral happened on Friday and I got texts from relatives and read the email recaps, full of feeling, memories, and thoughts of Grandma, religion, heaven, and God. I saw the pictures and watched the videos. The funeral and activities around it were obviously poignant and spiritual. I should've gone. I felt awful and horrible, and, frankly, quite embarrassed. How selfish had I been to place my own ambitions and desires over the chance to attend the funeral for one of the biggest influencers of my life? I didn't respond to anyone and didn't really talk about it, because I felt terrible about it. I continue to regret my decision.
Before the funeral, I was asked to contribute a favorite memory of Grandma. I thought about specific memories I had about Grandma, and I couldn't remember any. But what's more important than the specific memories was the culture she instilled within her family, which resonates strongly in the 4th generation still. She raised great children who married well and had big and strong families on their own. She taught us to go on missions, to love God first, to make sure everyone has a place at the table and is taken care of. She taught us to laugh at ourselves, to remember who we are and where we came from, to take chances and be adventurous. Most of all, she taught me to marry my best friend, because every time she talked about her spouse and best friend, she had a twinkle in her eye, even though she was in her 80's. I don't think about her every day, but in a way I do, because I think about my own family every day, and I'm living out her desire of how her descendants should live.
The key difference between this death and Dick Clark's is that I continue to think more and more about my Grandma than ever before, including when she was alive and well, and I've already forgotten who Dick Clark is, and it happened last week. Grandma, I love you and miss you. Until we meet again.
