Unfortunately, folks are right when they say tragedy brings people together. However, in the case of my Grandmother’s passing, it made for one of the most emotional yet wonderful weekends that I’ve had in years.
My Grandfather’s final wish, as bizzarre as it sounds, was to be buried in Arlington with the fellow men and women who have served our country. My Grandfather held such heavy pride for the military - he loved serving in the Air Force, and that was obvious even until his last breath. I remember Grandfather sitting in his chair in the corner of the living room, listening to Harry Kalas, and describing to a then 10-year old Krissy in great detail of his dream to have his final resting place at Arlington. My Grandmother was apprehensive about burying him in Arlington, however my Uncle John knew that was his one wish he thought to be sought out by his children. Even if we don’t write our memories in journals, or keep a supply of flashlights and double A batteries, we at least must grant him this one final wish. In fact, he was so passionate about this idea, he even left us directions to Arlington from Philadelphia - with his cell phone number, in case we get lost.
The process of closure after my Grandfather’s death seemed infinite. There was the month-long struggle at Holy Redeemer, watching him slowly slip away from us, while at the same time keeping the same personality and wit that he’d always had. Then, there was the funeral at our church in Philadelphia, which brought the family together but we still seemed so distant from one another. Just when we began the process of healing and accepting the notion that memories were all we had left, we ventured to Arlington nearly a month later to lay my Grandfather in his final resting place.
Nearly three years later, it was time to reunite my two beautiful Grandparents. Although nobody mentioned it, it was a bit coincidental that the house on Benner Street had finally been finished only a few months prior to my Grandmother’s passing. We began arrangements and my parents stayed in Reno while I tended to my little blonde brother, Charlie. There was no church service in Philadelphia for my Grandmother, however the rest of the family wanted to pay their respects and venture to Arlington.
Weeks passed, and it was time to go to Washington. I’ve always admired Washington, yet have never experienced the city in its entirety. So, naturally, I rounded up the gang and we headed to DC before the rest of my family arrived on Sunday morning. The weather could not have been any more perfect. It was warm during the day, and sweatshirts served as comfortable November jackets at night. Matt, Bill, and I did the touristy things, yet still remained grounded and stuffed our faces to satisfy our usual cravings. Before I knew it, it was Sunday morning and my parents and Mary were arriving at Union Station via train.
Around noon, we drove to the Embassy Suites to meet the first of the Kapeghians to arrive. Naturally, my parents were perched at the bar, already two empty glasses in front of them. One would think that drinking this early on a Sunday is a task, but unless orange juice is served with an olive, then I plead my case.
An hour passed, and slowly I began receiving text messages from the rest of the family on our whereabouts (i.e., where’s the watering hole?) I was particularly excited because Jesse was coming to Washington. Me, Mary, and Jesse were raised together - we were practically siblings. We got along wonderfully, except for Mary’s “Little General” stage when she would barricade us in a room until we agreed to play Barbies with her. I would’ve been more content had I known that this bossy three year old would later grow up to be a beautiful flower child lost in the helter skelter of Reno, Nevada.
First to arrive were Lisa and Max, all decked out in Phillies gear and ready for a Miller Lite. Then, shortly after, Aunt Jamie, Uncle Harry, and the bubbling laughter of Renee Ani filled the hollowed lobby of the Embassy Suites. Unfortunately, Bill had to make his way back to Philadelphia and could not fully experience the Kapeghians after dusk. Had he known that we would’ve been inhabiting the bar for another eight hours, he may have changed his mind.
As sickishly sappy as it sounds (say that five times…), the family circle was complete. There were no missing links, other than the two beautiful people who created our dazzling family. Their memories were kept alive with every pour of a cocktail and reminiscent stories that we pulled from the years passed. Mary, Jesse, and I savored the rare occasion of each others company. Two individuals who no matter what they do, or where they go, they are still the same matching-pajama wearing, blankey-carrying, X-Men impersonating, Mutsy snuggling, kids who I will always remember as my two best childhood friends.
It wasn’t long before the rest of the Kapeghians made their way to our hotel. The roaring laughter of my second cousins was enough to shake the foundation of our hotel. I was so happy that Matt was able to experience my family in reality, rather than build an image from my stories and Krissy Tapes in which he so generously engaged himself. Although we had been in the same spot for nearly twelve hours, it felt like we had just arrived. We still had yet to check into our rooms, and we knew that it probably wasn’t going to happen as long as the Kapeghian clan had full access to food and liquor. It was great to see the interaction between Mary and the Kapeghians, whom she had not formerly been familiarized with this particular part of our family. Mary was now a radiant adult who had so much pride in her family, and that’s something that all of us children and grandchildren inherit from Mary and Katchadoor. For me, it wasn’t until I was around fifteen that I began questioning Grandmother about our relationship with the rest of the Kapeghians. We spent numerous nights, laying awake in the queen-sized, creaky bed on Benner Street as she would paint an image of our intricate family tree. I would count the shadows on the cracked ceiling of at least fifteen cars driving up and down Benner Street before we both eventually dozed off and tried again the next night. Now I can see the same interest forming in my wonderful cousins.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_3MOp7Jh0ww&feature=youtu.be
It was now time for the Kapeghian clan to unwind and crawl into their respective beds. Unfortunately, some of the cousins had quite the adventure in walking back to their hotel since the shuttles stopped running a few hours prior to their final vodka and cranberry. Max, Lisa, Mary, Matt, and I all ventured to our neighboring rooms for one final beer before bed. Morning was going to come far too soon.
7:00am and our limo (yes, limo) was outside. I finished the final touches of make-up under my dark-circled eyes, grabbed Mary and Matt, and shuffled our way to the limousine. It was a somber ride, for we knew that our laughter was halted for the next couple of hours. Entering the gates of Arlington sent chills down my spine, because so many buses of students were taking tours of this American landmark while we were going there to lay my Grandmother to rest. In all its gracefulness, there was a sea of white beautiful tombstones, all aligned perfectly, with the grass cut and wild flowers blossoming near these beloved men and women. We pulled up at the main office and were reunited with the same faces as last night. However, their once animated faces were now vacant of expression because they knew reuniting my Grandparents would be bittersweet. Rose-Ellen tried to humor us and asked us if we were heading to prom after the service due to the fact that twelve of us rolled-up in a white stretch-limo.
The processional began, and Grandfather’s headstone location was almost unrecognizable. I had been here twice already, once for his burial and once after when I visited him after his brother’s service. There were now at least four rows of all-white headstones in front of his, and we walked for what it seemed like forever. My Grandmother’s casket was beautiful. It had rose moldings all around it symbolizing the timeless beauty that she radiated. I stood alone, excluding myself from the rest of my family because I only knew seeing their blotchy and teary-eyed faces would turn me into a human water-fall. Halfway through the service, I felt my brother squeeze my shoulder and hand me a couple of Kleenex. There was not a dry eye on any of the Kapeghians. Even Renee, who is only six years old, was crying. Although I was sorry to see her upset, I was grateful that she was older now and had the ability to form a memorable experience from this trip to Arlington. She was so young when Grandfather passed away, that I always felt softened that she hadn’t been able to fully experience his brilliance and beauty while he was still with us.
The service had finished. Renee, Mary, Jesse, my Mom, Uncle John, Aunt Jamie , and I were the last to return to the limo. We stayed for a while, throwing quarters in Grandmother and Grandfather’s plot and saying our final farewells. The Kapeghian processional proceeded to the other members of our family who were buried in Arlington, including Uncle John and Aunt Ruth. Mary noticed a beautiful rose budding in the midst of what looked to be a dying tree. We exchanged curious glances, not two minutes before Mary took out her camera and went to town. We said farewell once again to Arlington National Cemetery, with hopes that the next time we visit we are only here for a tour.
The white limo and the six other Kapeghian mobiles headed to Me Llana, a Lebanese restaurant in the heart of Arlington. This was the same place that we had spent the afternoon following my Grandfather’s burial. Both the food and wine were endless. Just as I thought it was safe to reapply my eye-liner, my Aunt Jamie read old letters from my Grandmother to my Grandfather during WWII. By this time, I had already had a couple glasses of wine and the water-fall began. Good thing, once again, my brother always has my back when it comes to extra Kleenex. Aunt Jamie’s speech was followed by Uncle John’s speech, when once again I practically blew my nose into a stuffed grape leaf. The speeches were over, and it was safe for me to indulge myself in kebobs, hummus, cheese galore, and (of course) more wine. Thank goodness I was wearing a dark-colored dress, because had I been wearing pants my button would have probably ended up on the other side of the room, in Ruthie’s bottle of Armenian beer.
We said goodbye to the Kapeghians, who were now on their journeys back to Philadelphia and New Jersey. My brother and Lisa also left, which I was upset about because I knew we would’ve had another great night had they stayed. We returned to the Embassy Suites, and Mary and I both plopped our once slim-figures onto a bed and slipped into a food induced coma for about an hour. Although I had packed many cute outfits for DC, I threw on my Drexel t-shirt and black elastic leggings and headed back downstairs to meet my family. Slowly, the night began to prove similar to the night before. Uncle Harry took Renee to bed, and the rest of us stayed downstairs only leaving the general bar-area to use the restroom or get a nicotine fix. I decided to break-out the old pictures. The laughter that emitted from my Aunt Jamie and Uncle John was enough to wake up both Arlington and downtown DC. Once again, I would have to reapply my eye-liner, but at least this time they were tears from laughter. From Aunt Jamie’s Coke-bottle glasses, to my Uncle John’s Daisy Dukes, we continued cracking-up for hours. We were literally howling at 1:00am in the middle of the Embassy Suites, and at times I thought Aunt Jamie was going to begin convulsing on the floor. I even had to haul-ass to the bathroom for fear that I’d have an accident. I had to be sure I was in full paparazzi-Krissy mode so that Grandmother and Grandfather weren’t disappointed.
I had to fight tears the next day when saying goodbye to everyone. It was mainly because everyone is at different stages in our lives, and it’s hard for all of us to come together as a family. There’s always someone who can’t make it, or someone who has other priorities, that there’s no distinct date on the next gathering of the family. The best resource I have for filling that void are my Krissy Tapes that help me remember who I am and why I am this way. The interactions on the tapes are exactly the same as our present-day interactions - only with less stone-washed jeans, more mustaches, less bangs, less Barbie and X-Men figurines, and more wine.
Grandmother and Grandfather would have been delighted by the way we spent our weekend in Washington, DC and Arlington. They would have wanted us to enjoy the company of our family, even if it was because we were mourning their passing.
…and as long as we took pictures.
