Today my first cousin died. My father called two days ago to let me know her funeral was today.
My grandmother had over ten kids and those produced a minimum of seven children and then at least 80% of those produced a minimum of one.
When my grandmother died about five years ago, it was noted in the obiturary that in all if you counted at the fifth generation (they had to stop there cause they would have kept going at it), she had populated the world with over 500 grandchildren alone.
That’s a lot of cousins and oddly you can tell a Hubbard when you see them.
But with our family being so big, it’s hard for us to get together. Even the close cousins (that be my father, my Uncle James and Uncle Michael’s and Uncle David’s kids) that’s just a little over 250 if you count husbands, wives and stepkids too.
So my cousin who died was a first cousin and that brought out a lot of people in the family to support my oldest auntie.
First and foremost, I hate funerals. Death is our worst enemy. I’m not afraid to die though because I know where I’ll be in the afterlife, but it’s horrible to know someone misses someone and Death caused it.
Death must be a real lonely angel and I can’t ever imagine having his/her job.
A friend in Florida once told me that he thought death was a woman because a man couldn’t handle that kind of job. This was coming from a guy and I thought it was sweet that he thought so highly of woman, or maybe it was a dig now that I think of it at how cold he thought women could be.
Anyhoo, I haven’t posted yet because I had to go to the funeral. Part of the family jumped in cars to go to the cemetary and then their going to call me and other family members to meet them back up at the church to eat.
It’s like a mini family reunion and I find that funny that black folks only get together for that. Well really it’s sad, because it’s like when we get together, we’ve really never been apart. We pick up the same conversation we were having last time.
It was weird though because the family knew about me.
They either had seen me in a newspaper, or on television or heard me on the radio or someone they knew mentioned me or asked if they were related to me.
So finally as we congregated after the funeral, one of them approached me and said, “I came out with my book and people keep asking if I know Sylvia Hubbard. That’s you right. Their talking about you.”
I said, “Probably so. I don’t know. What did they say about me?”
He goes into this thing and starts to name drop because of course he knows more people than me.
I’m a humble sort and as he mentions them I call off either their book, place of work, or what city they lived in. He then started to look intimidated and then said, “Call a brother and hook him up.”
I told him I would.
Other family then startedto walk up to me and one had the audacity to ask me how much money did I make selling “those books.”
I shrugged it off and smiled that smile you see in all my pictures. Took a lot of pictures and was in a lot of them.
Didn’t go to the cemetary. I came back home to grab a salad cause the pastor has us on a veggie and chicken fast.
I’m going to go back up there and eat a little more with them and then call it a day.
It was nice seeing family. Just not in that capacity.
I’ll post later on. Sorry for that.