My Grandfather's Funeral

I live with my father and my stepmother. That weekend I was going to stay with my mother. On Friday, after school, I headed over to her apartment. I remember it was a little late when I got there. My mother was home before I was, which is unusual. One of the first words that my mother said to me was, “Why didn’t you tell me about your grandfather?” I said, “I thought you knew he was in the hospital?” She replied, “Your father called me and told me he died.” I was sorta shocked, but the news didn’t quite hit me yet. I shrugged my shoulders and said, “I didn’t realize.” I walked passed her to drop off my school bags in my room. I just sat on my bed, as many thoughts raced through my head. At the time I didn’t feel anything. I wanted to feel sad, angry, and have a passion greater than the seven seas, but I didn’t. I was numb. I just sat there acknowledging the fact that my grandfather is now deceased, and that I’d never see him again.

I was never really close with my grandfather, I wish I was. He was a great man. He worked hard, had strong morals and believed in tradition. He loved words and poetry. If anything, he made sure his children had an education and large vocabulary. He had alot to offer. Sometimes, I feel bad or guilty, I took him for granted. I could have learned alot from him.

So, we flew down to Miami, Florida. That is where my grandfather raised his children and where he would be buried. I stayed with my grandmother, in her house, with my uncle Tony, and aunt Juanita.

Grandma was very strong. She wanted the family together for the holidays, and her birthday. She tried not to act sad, and for the most part she put on a happy face. However, sometimes, as she was smiling so brightly, I would see her eyes fill with water. As I entered the church, I saw my grandfather laying in his coffin. He had on his choir robe, for he loved to sing in church, and was a member of the gospel choir. He had a silver cross glistening around his neck. His right arm crossed his chest and in his hand he held the Bible. His left hand lay straight. Underneath his robe, I noticed he had on a black suit, for I could see the cuffs of his slacks. His shoes were nicely polished. Many beautiful flowers decorated the inside of his coffin. I had never seen a dead body before, and I was scared. I was comforted at the sight of him laying there peacefully, yet frightened at the same time. I saw everyone ahead of me kissing him on the cheek, or grabbing a hold of his hand. I was afraid to touch him. But I found myself stretching out my hand to hold his. His body felt cold, and as hard as a rock. My eyes started to water as I brought my arm back.

I hadn’t cried since I had arrived in Miami, while others have. I watched people in the funeral, mostly women, crying and sobbing. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. I began to think, “Why Lord, why won’t you let me shed my tears?” When we went to the burial grounds, everyone had settled down. Before his coffin was lowered family members, and friends, went up to the coffin and kissed it. I was overflowed with emotion. I walked up to the coffin, and kissed it. I had on clear lip gloss at the time, so it left a mark. I stood there and stared at my reflection in the green coffin, now covered with lipstick and lip gloss, as it was slowly lowered to its grave. I began to cry. I thanked God, for letting me shed my tears. I sat down in one of the chairs, and cried like I never did before. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, and the flowers shown brightly, and the palm trees stood tall. My cousin Carla approached me. She is 15 years older than me, and I really looked up to her. She told me everything was going to be okay. Her husband came and handed me a handkerchief. But instead I cried on his jacket, and he let me bury my head there. He said it was time to leave. I stood up. And we walked to the limousines that brought us there. My tears were beginning to dry. Carla told me that he is still watching over us, and anytime that we did something he didn not approve of, lighting would strike.