February 2nd, 1981

Grandma died last night. It was her birthday. After the telephone call from Uncle Lewie I was in a state of great turmoil trying to think of how I could not go back for the funeral. Just an emotional mess that I need not subject myself to. Wendy encouraged me not to go. Late yesterday afternoon Allan and I had just left the apartment to go to J’s. I heard the phone ringing from the hallway. It was Freddie, crying. Telling me that Grandma had been asking for me all day. I should come home now. I told her I would call her later. I then took a black beauty and spent the next several hours getting drunk and getting sucked off in the basement of J’s. One man after another. Finally, Allan and I left and came back to the Village and we both snorted more speed and Allan went home and I went back to Ty’s. Jerry was there, with a date. I was as flippant as I could be to him. I got cruised by several men, but by now my senses were somewhat dulled. I finally picked up a moderately good-looking guy and went back to his apartment and we slept in each others arms. This morning I hated to get out of the warmth of the apartment and him. I walked home in drizzly grey rain and when I got there the telephone was ringing. It was Freddie. Grandma died at midnight. Later my Uncle Lowell called. Then my mother called. By now I know I have to go. It has little to do with physically tending to my grandmother’s burial. It has more to do with a responsibility to these people who, after all, are my family. Some duty to share sorrow. So, tomorrow I fly back at 7:00 AM. My mother will be there. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in two years.

And I know in some final way, this trip home to participate in the burial of my grandmother is the closing chapter of my relationship to the entire family.