Today We Buried My Grandma

Today we buried my grandma. I couldn't have been more appalled. I knew she had passed away, obviously, but it really didn't hit me until I was there, standing at her casket. I don't know why. I was there when she was in the hospital. I stood by her bedside while a priest prayed over her. I knew what was coming. I would like to say I was mentally prepared. That would be a lie though. My grandma was one of those people that you never picture dying. I honestly thought I would pass away before she did. I never thought of her as sick or old. She was in her 90s and I still fully believe she could've kicked my butt. I know I'm not the only one who thought this. Just looking around the room it was pretty obvious that no one there was prepared for her passing. She was the only grandparent I ever really knew and listening to people talk about her today I cried even harder because there's so much I didn't know about her too.

Today we buried my grandma. I was the first reader at her service. I'm a horrible public speaker but all I could think was about how she would want me to do it. All I could think was that I couldn't stand to see the tears in my dad's eyes when he had asked me if I would want to be a reader. Then again, when my aunt thanked me for speaking with tears in her eyes, I couldn't stand it. I hate public speaking in every way, shape, and form but it didn't seem like a punishment today. It seemed more like a way to hold things together. Is that the hardest part of burying a grandparent: watching your aunts and uncles and parents cry? That was the first time I've seen many of them cry. There's something completely heart wrenching about watching people you look up to cry. These strong people, some of them almost super-human from my childhood memories, thanking me for speaking. How do you explain to someone that you don't feel like what you're doing deserves a thank you? How do you explain to someone who just lost a parent that this is the very least you can do for the grandmother who never missed a birthday, school event, or Christmas? How do you explain that you feel like you're not doing enough?

They asked me to be a pallbearer too and I thought I kept it together decently well. I was doing okay. I cried. I cried with my other cousins. We held it together, kind of, but we were all blurry eyed. I thought I was doing okay at keeping it together, right up until I got up to the podium to do the first reading. I'm a horrible public speaker but I felt like I could do it this time because I felt like she would want me to. But every time I took a breath I felt myself shake. When I finally found the courage to look up, I didn't land on a friendly face but rather on her casket and I lost it. I wasn't afraid that I was in a very crowded chapel reading for everyone to hear. I was afraid that my daughter wouldn't know the fight we all had over grandma's dumplings, or the Christmas dinners making jokes and grandma keeping an extra deviled egg for me. In the middle of speaking, while everyone was watching me, while there was a microphone in front of my face, I lost it. The lump in my throat grew twelve sizes and I struggled to get through the rest of my reading with a face that wasn't covered in tears.

We buried my grandma today. I was a speaker. I was a pallbearer. I was a hoarder of used tissues. My thought process went everywhere from "Easter at her house was always my favorite" to "Funerals are such an odd way to celebrate a person's life." I hope other people have these thoughts because I could not control the thoughts of how weird funerals actually are. The thoughts of memories were powerful today though. I think every person I stood even close to shared a memory with me. One of my cousins and I reminisced on her living room that hadn't been updated in years and remembered playing hide and seek there when we were little. Another cousin reminded me of playing with her huge beanie baby collection and how she always let us create 'houses' for them under the tables. One of my aunts talked to me about a Christmas tradition we have of an 'ornament exchange'. One year, the first year I was able to be a part of the 'adult exchange', I bought an ornament specifically for my grandma and everyone traded with her so eventually, I wound up with it back in my lap. She wouldn't let me give it to her when the exchange was over. I had to gift it to her as an actual present for Christmas because she was so set on tradition. My dad talked to me about his childhood with her. Everyone seemed to have a specific memory of her they wanted to remember and share today.

We buried my grandma today. My cousins were there. My cousin's kids were there. All of my aunts and uncles were there. My grandma's siblings were there. And their kids were there. People I haven't seen in years were there. This family that she built surrounded her. There was a not a dry eye in sight. The brief eye contact I made with a few of my cousins was met in return with forced smiles and sobbing eyes. Our family is huge. We are all so different. Half of my cousins, I barely even know anymore. Today, it didn't feel like that. She brought us all together one more time. I don't think anyone realized that until after the fact though; that's not what we were focused on today.

We buried my grandma today. I pulled off my right-hand glove and laid it on top of her casket. Tears poured hot down my face as I watched everyone lay a flower down for her. My own daughter clung to my neck and cried. She didn't know what was going on but as she cried and I cried, I clung to her and prayed for my grandma. She had always had a love of angels. I hugged my daughter tight and I really, really lost it. Hard, uncontrollable sobs poured out of me as they lowered her. It was a bittersweet moment. I know she's an angel now. There isn't a doubt in my mind that she is. But there's also that selfish part of me that was mad at God today. He wasn't supposed to take away my only grandmother. I looked around at all the people in my family and the friends that had come to support me in a time of need and was mad that He would take her from so many people who loved her.

I'm not entirely sure what inspired me to write this. I had to do something tonight and this was it. This was what I did instead of going to bed tonight. I hope... well I certainly hope that no one can relate to this. But if you can, I hope it made you feel something. No matter how you mourn, just remember that everything will be okay. Maybe not today, but eventually. This wasn't anywhere near my first attendance at a funeral, but it definitely hit me very hard. Harder than most. I hope, as odd as this sounds, that I go like she did. I hope that when I go, I'm surrounded by my friends and family and that no one has a single bad word to say about me. My grandma was an angel among us and I truly believe that. Even though she's gone, I think she went in a way that she was happy with. I think she was happy to be surrounded by her family at that moment. I also don't think she was afraid. Honestly, I can't even picture her afraid.