Awkward “Good mornings” and “Hellos” filled the crisp, cold air as we walked through the path of the cemetery. My family knew our surroundings too well, for it was not the first time we lost someone. As time drew near, the weather changed into a bright sunny day; I could hear the birds singly happily as they flew above. It was the perfect weather to go to the beach, to the park, to be outside enjoying the fresh air. It wasn’t the kind of weather that I would expect to attend a funeral, to witness the last moments above ground, the burial of my beloved grandmother. The skies may have been blue, with the sun sharing its warmth, but the feeling was despair, dissolving of the heart, and grief. Needless to say, it was a hard time for my family. We had already lost our grandfather, the icon which kept our family in order, and now his wife, with her sewing that kept our family together – both gone. As the ceremony began, tears began to fall, which seemed like an endless shower of rain down my kin’s faces. Salty tears were swept away from my cousin’s face, as he thought, “Be strong; you’re a man,” but in reality, he had no control over the overbearing hurt which consumed him instantly. The sight of the men’s red eyes and women’s destroyed mascara filled the depths of my heart with emptiness of sorrow.
I could smell the powerful scent of dirt, in which would cover the body of the woman I played with in the rose garden, the woman I sat with in prayer on late Saturday evening services, the woman who gave birth to my mother who had given birth to me. I gripped my black, silky dress in anger, for I felt it was unfair that someone with such faith in the world, in humanity, could be taken away from me so easily, in a matter of seconds. I tasted the guilt in the depths of my throat, the guilt in which is still held over me, the guilt of not being able to be with her in her last moments. The horrible aftertaste of that guilt still remains in my mouth today. The uncontrollable sobbing of my relatives was contagious, for in a few seconds after I heard them, I too began to cry. I made my way to the front of the hearse, to sing a song sent to me from a concerned friend the day of my grandma’s passing. I sang that song horribly, a song that ironically was titled “Well Done”, but was not well done by me at all, due to unmanageable tears. I heard the off-key notes I hit as I sang that song, but I had no care for it. All that mattered at that moment was my hope that somewhere, wherever my grandmother was, she heard me that she would forgive me of my trespasses.
I returned to my cousins’ side afterwards; we all stood side by side, so close that we could all feel the goose bumps of the persons we were standing next to. The final moments of an ascended coffin were all that I could see then. Then as they lowered the coffin, I could hear the beating of my heart. The beating was so loud; it was as if a stethoscope was hooked up to speakers, for I felt that everybody in the cemetery could hear it. Before I knew it, I could no longer see her coffin; there was no longer any trace of her body left in my sight. I took in a breath of air and smelled the sunshine over the graves of my dearly loved grandparents. The coffin which lay in my sight minutes ago were now covered with dirt, and over that dirt, sun yellow daises that she loved. There and then I realized that it is certain…
I could smell the powerful scent of dirt, in which would cover the body of the woman I played with in the rose garden, the woman I sat with in prayer on late Saturday evening services, the woman who gave birth to my mother who had given birth to me. I gripped my black, silky dress in anger, for I felt it was unfair that someone with such faith in the world, in humanity, could be taken away from me so easily, in a matter of seconds. I tasted the guilt in the depths of my throat, the guilt in which is still held over me, the guilt of not being able to be with her in her last moments. The horrible aftertaste of that guilt still remains in my mouth today. The uncontrollable sobbing of my relatives was contagious, for in a few seconds after I heard them, I too began to cry. I made my way to the front of the hearse, to sing a song sent to me from a concerned friend the day of my grandma’s passing. I sang that song horribly, a song that ironically was titled “Well Done”, but was not well done by me at all, due to unmanageable tears. I heard the off-key notes I hit as I sang that song, but I had no care for it. All that mattered at that moment was my hope that somewhere, wherever my grandmother was, she heard me that she would forgive me of my trespasses.
I returned to my cousins’ side afterwards; we all stood side by side, so close that we could all feel the goose bumps of the persons we were standing next to. The final moments of an ascended coffin were all that I could see then. Then as they lowered the coffin, I could hear the beating of my heart. The beating was so loud; it was as if a stethoscope was hooked up to speakers, for I felt that everybody in the cemetery could hear it. Before I knew it, I could no longer see her coffin; there was no longer any trace of her body left in my sight. I took in a breath of air and smelled the sunshine over the graves of my dearly loved grandparents. The coffin which lay in my sight minutes ago were now covered with dirt, and over that dirt, sun yellow daises that she loved. There and then I realized that it is certain…
Losing someone you love should get easier everyday because although it is one day further from that last time you saw them, it is also one day closer to the next time you’ll see them.....
so beautifully written!
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