As the holiday season approaches, I am reminded of my dislike of candy canes. Not only do I only dislike them, I absolutely abhor them. My maternal grandfather's funeral comes to mind when I think of candy canes. It was a sad time for my family. His death marked the beginning of losing close relatives. I was about to turn twenty-two. His funeral was the day before my birthday. It was supposed to be on my birthday but my Mother had them change the funeral to the day before.

Up to this point, I had only lost my paternal grandfather, when I was sixteen, to amyotrophic lateral sclerosis also known as ALS. In typical Minnesota fashion, that was in the winter time as well. In Northeastern Minnesota during the dead of winter, also known as January, it is rather a bleak time of the year. It is bitter cold, depressingly somber, and tiring.

People generally decide to kick off at this time of year out sheer contempt for the weather also so they don't have to shovel the driveway yet another time before the plow goes by. I don't actually remember if it snowed the day Homer died but odds are, it did, given it is Minnesota and January.

Anyway, as I was saying, it is always a crappy time of year. Deaths and funerals pile up like firewood. People are sad and depressed. Snow everywhere with no sign of stopping.

My grandfather's name was Leo. I loved him to pieces. To me, he was funny, smart, and loved when I would help take care of him in some way. He had an illness called hemochromatosis.

This is an illness in which the small intestine is unable to absorb iron from the blood in order to be filtered out of the body appropriately. It is instead absorbed into the body's various tissues and stored inappropriately throughout the body.

My grandfather was Scandinavian by culture and race but the color of his skin was black due to his condition. I remember his hands very clearly. They were like bear paws due to color and size. He had absolutely huge hands. He was in the Navy in his younger years. He then worked as a mechanic after the war.

To others, he was noted to be an abusive father, uncle, and man. I knew him as moody and grumpy but not abusive. I believe the others and their views but I personally don't know my grandfather in that light, which I am happy about.

I would rather remember him sitting at the kitchen table at my parent's cabin telling me about his disease and asking me to check how he was doing. He handed me a magnet one day and said, "Wave it over my chest to see if the pull is still there ... you know my iron levels." So, I did and of course, I could feel the pull on the magnet.

"Oh my gosh!! Gramps, your iron levels must be high! I can feel the pull on the magnet." He looked at me and said, "Oh, I will have to ask my doctor, which is worse, having a spoon stuck on my chest or high iron levels?" He then opened up his shirt and showed me the spoon he had sitting on his chest where I had just waved the magnet.

He was always playing tricks and teasing you if you could stomach it. My favorite thing to do with my Grampa was watching the movie, The African Queen on the late movie when I would stay overnight on weekends.

When he died, it was incredibly devastating for my mother and her sisters. I was happy he was out of misery. It was a mixed bag of emotions for the girls.

He died from liver complications due to his illness at age sixty-six as well as not wanting to shovel snow anymore. That day we had a bad storm close to twenty or so inches so it makes logical sense that he exited the scene at that particular time.

In their eyes, they loved him and hated him. He was the abusive dad. They all had their own issues due to a complicated family life. My mother, in particular, had intrusive anxiety and trust issues. She also had great difficulties with both her sisters. She had one who was older and one who was younger. In my mother's eyes, one was nasty and the other as well... Babe. The special one.

In my eyes, Babe, who was and is named Marla, most likely has a diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder. I deducted this given her history, notably odd behaviors, and frequent flyer mileage at the looney tune up club in the mental health ward of the hospital. This generally is a good clue.

Marla was known to others as "Screw" as in goofy (she was aware of this joke, and it was funny in her mind.) She was reported to be caught giving a blow job to some random guy at a family picnic. She was going to marry one of the twin tower bomber guys (they trained to fly in Minnesota and were looking for 'easy' brides to get into the country). She had many personas, would engage in cutting behavior, would ramp up into a rage for nothing, would physically attack others over nothing, would attempt suicide, plus threaten it over and over. She ripped up my grandfather's World War II photos because there was an evil cloud in the pictures. She would intentionally get others into trouble because she could. She was jealous. She was insecure and evil. She was the proverbial hypochondriac. If you had anything wrong with you, she had the same thing. She was noted to fall onto the floor waiting to be picked up for attention. She was noted to use walkers and canes for attention. She had no sense of self.

Marla could also be loving, kind and fun. However, you never knew who was going to show up. She went through many trials of therapy, multiple trials of medication, and trials or whatever. I am not certain that she really got a good diagnosis or if really anything ever worked for her. It didn't help that she didn't have a strong support system either. Later in life, she ended up with a restraining order against her, which lasted for two years plus a court visit at the end of those two years to make clear she needed to stay away from her target.

Marla was an artist. She could paint and draw anything. However, her functioning in the world was difficult. She couldn't drive. She couldn't really take care of herself. She was frumpy and dumpy. Didn't care about hygiene. My mother always referred to her as piggy. She was highly dependent upon others.

She had a job in which she was a caretaker for elderly women, which was completely ironic. She was able to do this for some time around five or so years. I believe she was let go due to mistreatment of her client, which is not the least bit surprising to me.

After this, her functioning in the world went downward and she seemed to play the part of the women she would take care of. She became whomever she was in contact with. She had to be removed from my grandparent's home because she physically attacked my grandfather. She left bruises and scratches all down his back. He was in his late fifties or early sixties. After that stunt, she went to live in an apartment complex for people who are basically dependent upon the State.

It worked, especially for my grandparents. Her stress and chaos were too much for them or anyone. That was Babe. The one who could do no wrong.

When my Grandfather was dying, my mother picked her up from her apartment complex. A storm was arriving at any minute and all those involved needed to be accounted for and huddled at my parent's house. As Marla got into the car, my Mother said to her, "This is it, we are getting closer to the end... Dad is dying." In true Marla fashion, she replied, "Who is going to take me shopping?"

Give me, buy me, take me was Marla's typical headspace. My grandfather's death shouldn't change this ... Or would it?

Around this time, she had started a new drug regime. By the time my grandfather did die and funeral arrangements made, Marla had learned how to mimic funeral behavior, along with a little Marla zest added for fun; trumping typical funeral behavior so to speak. "Screw" at her best.

She was groggy, glassy-eyed, slow-witted, drooling, zoned out, not daydreaming just gone. This was not even the Marla we were accustomed to goofy or not. We all were in grief and trying to make it through the day. Of course, any chance she got she would carry on like a fool and cry like a fool to anyone who offered their condolences.

We just stayed away from her, we knew the drill. Otherwise, she would glom onto you and pull you into her drama. Everybody knew "Screw" so who cares. We have more important things to do than worry about her bullshit.

I'm not sure if this was our flawed thinking, or if we simply underestimated what joys Marla zest can bring to your life, or if we were just plain ol' stupid thinking Marla would not put a special "kiss" on the day but we had some troubles.

I would like to report, we almost had it all, but no. It was not meant to be. Even though everything was lined up, time of year, body, snow.... we still failed. We were known as funeral failures.

We had a "special room" for our family so we didn't have to sit out in the crowd. Privacy, you see. I'm not sure who was being protected but separation was definitely notable.

Just prior to the service, the family went out to pay their last respects before they closed the casket. You see, we would not see the casket in our "special room." So, out to the main room in front of everyone, we went to say our final goodbyes.

We all paid our last respects. I gave my grandfather a stamp with a Czech sailboat on it. We used to collect stamps together. I tucked it into his pocket. I thought it fitting.

One by one everyone had something or a special way to say goodbye. Our mistake was forgetting about "Screw". She went up to the casket unattended.

Now she quickly learned, "Oh we do something here." after watching the others say their goodbyes. Then a lightning bolt struck her brain, "I know, I will kiss my Dad goodbye."

Now on the surface, not a bad plan. We are at a funeral, saying goodbye, what better way to do that than with a kiss?

Wrong!

Now don't forget "Screw" was here, not Marla, and she was drugged up plus episodic but this isn't saying much as she always was. Plus, "Screw" and Marla both were not small people nor have good coordination.

Our problem came about when "Screw" fervently leaned into the casket to give her Dad a kiss goodbye and ended up almost knocking the casket off of the stand in front of everyone. It moved a good six inches over almost completely off the stands.

Yeah - a moment of silence here to either laugh or cry or both.

The funeral parlor folks jumped up quickly reacting to the "almost fall" of the body in front of everyone.

It didn't fall. Thank goodness. However, the funeral guys kept a watchful eye out scanning for impending doom at any moment. That's how close it was.

We were quickly ushered away into our "special room" after that stunt. I don't recall if it was padded, but I would imagine so, as it was January.

Now, how does this all tie in with candy canes? You are probably wondering.

Well, again, I would like to report that we were home free after the coffin kiss. But we were, yet again screwed.

After the funeral, we went back to my parent's house for a meet and greet basically. Not many people were there really, "Screw", a couple of my friends, my grandmother, her youngest brother (she was one of fourteen), my Mom's oldest sister and her family, and my Mom and Dad of course.

Mostly just close family. What can go wrong, right?

It was just after the holidays. My mother had the festive Santa Claus boot on the kitchen table with leftover candy canes from the Christmas socks in it. Now my Mother loved to put Candy canes everywhere every Christmas.

There were always leftovers, in my ceramic boot I made in fifth grade, and there were a variety of sizes too: mini candy canes, regular sized ones, and of course the foot long stick kind an inch in diameter.

It was a very trying and long day. Everyone was exhausted, emotionally, physically, and cognitively. We were all drained. "Screw" was catatonic.

My mom's visiting space was in the kitchen. It was huge. My Dad remodeled it and it was a large open area. Most of the people who were visiting were in the kitchen around the table. The others were in the front room watching television with my Dad.

"Screw" was in the kitchen in her catatonic state, sitting slumped in a chair, all glassy-eyed, drooling, zoned off... staring forward while "giving head" to a foot long candy cane in front of everyone in the kitchen. Yes, her tongue was sticking out.

"Screwed" again and everyone was gagging.

A moment of silence to regain composure or to stop gagging and or laughing.

My grandfather died in 1994. A lot of time has passed under the bridge so to speak from these incidents. Time can heal pain and old wounds as well as change points of view, especially with age.

However, I can absolutely guarantee that everyone sitting in that room who witnessed the "candy cane blow job" can not look at, think about, or even have candy canes in their homes because of this incident still to this very day.

It just goes to show us how fascinating one's goofball mind can be.

You'd have thought we would have given up blow jobs ... but no, we gave up candy canes.

Huh?? Crazy.