I thought and thought about it, and finally decided, with the help of DH's social conscience (which is much better evolved than mine) to fly out west for Grandma's memorial. I get freaked out easily by crowds, whether they're family or not, and my stiff upper lip is greatly challenged by my birth mom's extravagant emotions, so I wasn't looking forward to the event. I knew it would be draining, but as DH (right again, goddamn him) pointed out, This Was Not About Me.
We're all back home now in Westlock following the memorial, overstuffed with luncheon and emotion. I hugged more mysterious relatives than I can shake a stick at; it will take a lifetime to sort out who's related to who. I met up again with my grandma on my birth father's side... we've only had two or three chances to meet, so it was nice to talk with her. It tickled her to no end that I'm a knitter... she is too. I suppose that's where I got my crafty gene from as no-one else will take responsibility for it.
I'm tired, and the night is only half-over. Soon the house will be full of well-wishers and friends of the family, stopping by to pay their respects. I'm about at the limits of my social tolerance for the day, so I'm sitting on the lawn in the back-yard, boosting wireless capacity from an unknown neighbor. God bless them, whoever they are.