The Funeral

So, on Tuesday, we had Grandpa's funeral. I was debating all week if I wanted to write about this, (I mean, it is really depressing, but I can't think of anything else to write at the moment because this is such a big event in my life.) I had never been to a funeral, so I didn't know what to expect.

I got up at eight o'clock. It was raining and dark outside, which seemed more than fitting. After putzing around my apartment trying to find the clothes I wanted to wear, I sat on my bed just thinking about my grandpa. He was such a wonderful person, and I wanted to take the time to reflect on all of the things he did for me and my brother growing up. I was finally able to motivate myself after some good memories, and started getting dressed.

It felt weird to be dressing in all black. I am usually a pretty vibrantly dressed person, so wearing black shoes, tights, dress and sweater made me feel more sad along with the weather outside making me sad. But again, it was fitting.

I went over to my mother's house to collect Alex and head to my dad's. It wasn't pouring down rain, but there were little droplets from the fog collecting on my sweater and skin. It felt weird and cold.

Alex and I headed to Dad's house. I can't remember if we talked about anything or just listened to music. I always have music playing in my car, so I know we didn't sit in silence. When we got to my dad's, Sharon and Dad were upstairs getting ready. They had new clothes for Alex to wear so he would look nice. He got dressed, and so did my step-brother, Nathaniel. Dad and Sharon came downstairs and told us to meet them at Grandma's house.

It's weird, because now it is just Grandma's house. Not Grandpa and Grandma's house.

Dad and Sharon were going to go collect the cremains.

I took the boys in my car over to Grandma's house, where we sat and looked at stuff like her Time magazines and flowers. Dad and Sharon got there at almost the same time, but we still didn't have anything to talk about. We didn't have to be at the cemetery for another forty-five minutes.

Grandma kept telling us how nice we looked. I felt like I looked really spiffy, but dour. I didn't want to dress like I was happy, of course, but I wanted to feel less like I was depressed.

Finally, we made the move to head to the cemetery. Dad took Sharon and Grandma in one car, and I drove Nathaniel and Alex in the other. We followed my Dad to the cemetery. Grandpa was a World War II veteran, and was getting a veteran's burial.

It was beautiful driving into the cemetery with all of those white headstones. They are lined up so that from anyway you look at them, they appear to be in line with all the others. The grass was beautiful and green, which I knew Grandpa would appreciate. He loved a fresh cut lawn.

We went to the main office first, where we met the priest. Grandma and Grandpa are Catholic, so he was going to do a Catholic send off. (I say that like there is a Viking boat involved, but really it involves a church.)

The guy who was keeping the scheduling for the funerals that day asked if Grandpa would get the military gun salute. Grandma had decided that he wouldn't get one. I wanted Grandpa to have that honor; after all, he served our country. But she didn't. The man at the desk thought it was sad Grandpa wouldn't get it, but gave us a folded flag anyways.

The cemetery guide came out and explained that he would be taking us to the church for Grandpa's send off.

We all got in our cars and followed him, parking and heading into a church that was made during President Jimmy Carter's days. It was weirdly fitting. Grandpa had fallen off his bike almost seventeen years back and broken his collar bone. When the paramedics were trying to figure out if he had bumped his head, they asked him who the president was. He couldn't remember Clinton's name, but Carter was first in the alphabet and said "Carter," first. The paramedics had thought he had memory loss until he got to the hospital.

We went into the church and sat in one pew altogether. The priest started saying his things. There was a lot of "Thanks be to God," and "Hallowed be thy name." I wasn't really paying attention. I was staring at the box that housed my grandpa. It was about ten inches by fourteen by six. I couldn't help wondering how a whole person, all one hundred and eighty five pounds of him, fit into a eight hundred and forty square inch box. All that was left of him were ashes and memories. And that made me so sad.

I couldn't even follow what the preist was talking about. I caught somethings, like how he prayed Grandpa would be accepted into heaven, and blah, blah, blah. It didn't matter to me. It mattered to Grandma, of course, but to me, it was a lot of stuff I didn't understand, and didn't believe.

Finally it came time to hold hands and pray. At first, I was just left sad, but then I realized I knew the prayer. My grandpa had paid me ten dollars the year I turned ten to learn and recite the Lord's Prayer. It came back to me while I was in the church like I was still standing in the hallway under the mistletoe with my Grandpa, saying it back like a children's rhyme. I started crying then.

The cemetery guide after the preist concluded his sermon and offered my grandma the folded flag in honor of grandpa's service. It was so beautiful and touching that I wanted to hear the blanks being shot off out of the rifles. I wanted people to know that my grandpa was a hero. I didn't want to keep his service confined to the small room of the church. I wanted the whole world to know what an amazing person my grandfather had been.

We couldn't really change my grandma's mind now, though.

When Grandma took the flag that was so carefully folded, my dad kind of lost it. He was so sad, and was missing his dad so much. Part of me wanted to suck it and stop being sad, but I knew I didn't have to. I cried with him and my grandma.

When we finally left the church, the guide offered to take Grandpa, but we were all a little lost. We couldn't let this stranger, no matter how nice he was, take Grandpa. We asked if we could go to where he was going to be buried.

Nathaniel offered to drive, which was good. I was really teary.

We went over to where there were plenty of fresh graves being tended and created. Grandpa had a fresh hole in the ground. It drizzled as we walked out. Grandpa was handed to the guy digging the holes, and before I realized what had happened, he had already put all eight hundred and forty square inches of Grandpa into the ground and was pressing wet earth down on him. I felt hot tears running down my cheeks.

I wanted to tell him to stop, that I wasn't ready to say goodbye to him yet. But my voice wasn't working. I was so choked up, I could barely breathe. Instead, I stood there with the rest of my family and watched more and more dirt get piled on top of the box.

Finally the guy was done and he replaced the tag that let everyone know where my grandpa was and where his headstone was going to be. Sharon passed out red and white roses for everyone. One by one, we put our flowers on the pressed down grass and dirt.

I wanted to say goodbye, or to utter some kind of reassurance. I wanted to let my grandpa know that we all still loved him and cared about him and would always be there, thinking about him all the time everyday.

But my throat hurt so much. I couldn't even squeak. My face was hot with tears and flushed hot. I couldn't stop winging out my sleeves. Even though it was a cold day out, I felt like I was in a bathtub of hot water and steam.

We headed back to our cars and away from the grave. Nathaniel drove again, and I didn't stop crying until we were almost to Grandpa's favorite restaurant. I didn't have a kleenex, either, and ended up wiping my tears and nose on my wrung out sleeves. I knew my eyes were red and puffy, but I didn't care. I just missed my grandpa, and I was with my family that missed him, too. Somehow, that helped.

It's been less than a week, but I am not as raw as I was. Part of my wanted to skip the rest of the week of school, but the bigger part of me made me go. I even started me new job. Of course, the world continues on even with out my grandpa, but fo the moment, it definitely seems sadder. I know in my head it is going to get better. I just hope that my heart catches up with that line of thought soon.