Since rehab is teaching me this how to be a better person bullshit, I’d like to try something new, wherein I attempt, as best as I can with each post I write, to genuinely encourage Julia Allison to do better, be better and live better in hopes that she finally, FINALLY hears amidst the din of fatties Elizabeth Gilbert-esque nuggets of wisdom that help her become a better person. Gone are the days of immutable cynicism, of making fun of her potato face or her relentless and admirable quest to find love in a husband, nay, partner who can fulfill her material and spiritual needs. We all deserve happiness, in whatever form we desire, despite our transgressions. Julia Allison is no different, and I want to help her achieve her dreams and lead her on a path to discover life’s boundless possibilities.
Julia, if you’re out there, I want to express my sincere condolences for the peace-ing out of your meemaw. She was clearly a source of inspiration and wisdom for you, and I just want you to know that she will continue to be your source of strength, even as her soul finds eternal happiness in God’s loving arms.
The dash-loving shut-in Emily Dickenson wrote, “Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality.” With those words lies a calm and comforting truth. And I hope those words inspire you to celebrate the life of someone so dear to you. Remember that, even though her spirit is no longer of this realm, she lives within you in wisdom and in memory.
Now is not the time for sorrow, nor is it the time for mourning. The passing of your grandmother is an opportunity for joy and reflection. Her soul has found peace, and her legacy can be found in the hearts of those who loved her.
Do not grieve for your grandmother, for now is not the time for grieving.
And now is especially not the time for grieving on the internet.
This is a photo of me holding my Grandmother’s hand in the hospice, the last time I saw her alive, a few weeks ago. My grandmother always used to say to me – when I was frantically worrying about some idiot guy or what I was going to do with my career or where I would live or whether my life would EVER work out – “Julia, darling, you must simply *let it unfold*.”
It wasn’t her only wise aphorism, but it was the one that struck most deeply. For all the planning, all the anxiety, all of the nonsense … sometimes the only thing to do is just relax … and let our lives unfold.
So, despite the fact that she would have been horrified at the idea, a few years ago I tattooed the acronym on my wrist.
LIU: Let it Unfold
— with Grandmother Marilyn.
Dearest Julia, while the sentiment is appreciated, its medium is unbecoming. I certainly understand the need to commemorate and express grief, but broadcasting it to tens of thousands of bought-for people in a bunch of Asian countries nobody cares about seems less like an expression of emotion and more like a disingenuous plea for empty sympathy.
Do you really think that Sivaruban Theshinamoorthy of Puchong really cares that your nana kicked it after a long and privileged life? I’d venture to guess that, if you sincerely thought about it and pushed aside the me-me-me that bounces around in your head, you would arrive at the conclusion that he doesn’t.
But using Facebook and Twitter to goad complete strangers for sympathy for a situation that practically everyone will eventually go through, and acting like you are the only person in the history of the human race who has had a grandparent who was older than Methuselah bite it, well. . . it’s OK. It’s understandable.
When we experience loss, it’s only natural that we gravitate toward what’s comfortable. And for you, your natural inclination is to be a narcissistic heehawing asshole whose primary source of comfort is seeking sympathy, validation and praise online. You are going through a difficult time, and I don’t expect you to immediately change your behavior in the midst of what seems to be an insurmountable tragedy. Feel free to continue to be a selfish, insufferable hosebeast who uses the death of a loved one to reaffirm the notion that you are adored. It’s perfectly all right. It’s what you know.
If imagining that people all over the world, particularly in Uzbekistan, are dropping everything to rush to the computer to express their condolences brings you comfort, then I hope you find the comfort that you seek. Feel free to broadcast tweets and Facebook updates like these, if it helps you get through this difficult time wherein the entire world needs to stop to acknowledge that your gran gran can scratch “die of old age” off her bucket list.
My beloved grandmother passed away quietly in her sleep tonight. Words fail me. She was everything. http://pic.twitter.com/ZPAZqYbj
My Grandmother, with her five grandchildren – four boys – and me. She was the most loving human being I have ever met. http://pic.twitter.com/GryLltEK
Thank you to all who have said kind things to me about my beautiful Grandmother, and to my
@JuliaPriceMusic, who brought me chocolate.
I never had to be anything but exactly what I was for my grandmother to love me.
My grandmother brightened every room. I never saw her in a bad mood. Not once. Here she is playing piano at 85. https://vimeo.com/14150507
This is a portrait of my Grandmother Marilyn in her early twenties. She was just … so, so beautiful. http://pic.twitter.com/QjCotaWq
@KatrinaSzish – Thank you, sweetheart. That means so much to me. You both would have bonded over fashion! She adored DVF & Lilly Pulitzer!
You don’t really know how much someone has shaped you until you think about what your life would have been like had they not come into it. [Ed. Note: Me, me, me, me, me, me]
And finally. . .
The thing about missing someone is that it doesn’t go away, even when the shock of them not being there does.
Not that that’s gone away, either. I have my Grandmother on my iPhone’s speed dial, and I keep wanting to just ring her up, just to hear the way her voice sounded when she said “Julia!!” as if nothing could thrill her more than me calling her up. How many other people sound that overjoyed when I call? Let me tell you: no one.
I’ve saved her voicemails, so I could play them back over … How can it be that she’ll never leave a new one? How can it be over?
These are the things I think about as I try to fall asleep tonight …
I hope broadcasting your unimaginable loss to the masses has helped you move on. From what I can see, apparently it has.
I find it admirable that you have almost instantaneously been able to pick up your pelts and move on from such a terrible tragedy that has affected you and only you.
But I’d like to advise you on proper decorum for broadcasting such deeply personal information. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that you are the star of what will undoubtedly be a critically acclaimed and highly rated reality show. (Bravo’s Miss Advised, premiering this fall, lest you forget.) You are about to achieve the fame that you desire, the fame you have repeatedly told yourself you deserve, the fame that should be granted to you after the most minimal of effort on your part. You are about to be a genuine celebrity, not just internet famous, but an actual celebrated figure of the likes of Cathy of the comic Cathy or Lorena Bobbit. With that elevation of stature comes the need to become an enigma.
Manically broadcasting every detail of your personal life, particularly the death of a loved one is frowned upon in respected celebrity circles. A simple one or two sentence statement released by a publicist that asks for privacy during this difficult time would suffice. In fact, the less you say about the croaking of Grammers the better. It will garner even more sympathy, and, even better, more admiration.
After your hotly anticipated reality show premieres, you will be rocketed to fame. Someday soon, plebians will be clamoring for a piece of you. The less you give them, the more they will want.
There will be a day in the near future where you will be paid a substantial fee of a couple of dollars and some free samples of lube to show up at places like Papi Culos, a gay bar that caters to limp-wristed Latin men, where you will both judge and win a Julia Allison lookalike drag contest. Fey Puerto Ricans will be worshiping at the altar of You, crying “¡Ay, Mamacita! You are something fierce!”
And why will they do this? Because they want to solve the riddle of You. But there will be no riddle to solve if you keep on acting like a professional Sicilian mourner and continue to air such personal things on such impersonal mediums.
Leave something about you to the imagination. Create the image of a stoic who grieves quietly and gracefully. It will work out better for you in the long run. People will love you more. The greater admiration for you will give your grandmother’s death greater meaning.
I hope this advice helps. I am sure you feel that you will never be able to overcome the sadness of your loss. The grief you are sharing on the internet would be better shared with a qualified mental health professional who can help you through this difficult time. In fact, I was just talking to my friend who does publicity for Bravo about therapists who specialize in narcissistic personality disorder and borderline personality disorder. (It just randomly came up.) She told me about this place on Venice Blvd that helps people overcome their tendency to be a self-centered, attention-seeking cuntrocket. Perhaps, you can give them a call after live-tweeting the funeral!
P.S. Your dead grandfather called. He’s wondering when he’s going to get the same amount of overdramatic attention.