My grandmother died two weeks ago. Today was her funeral. I had been to funerals before but had never participated in one. My grandmother's death is the first time someone close to me has passed away, as I have mentioned before. The service was lovely, with my mom and her three sisters speaking on lessons my grandmother had taught them. She was a wonderful, kind, and charming woman who knew no limits of love and charity. She believed in being kind to others, and serving them in anyway possible.
My grandmother's death has been a bizarre experience for me. During these last two weeks, I have felt sad, yes, but mostly I've felt okay. My grandmother wasn't doing too well towards the end and I know she's at peace now. I know she's surrounded by her brothers, parents, and loving husband. I know that. There is no doubt in my mind. The first time I cried was at the funeral today, partly because I saw my mother crying and can never stay dry-eyed when I see her crying. But for the most part, I've been fairly okay these past two weeks.
To give you an idea of how my mind works, here's an little anecdote for you. When my mom came into my room to tell me grandma had died, she said the funeral would be on the 13th. My first thought, in all seriousness, was "What do they do with grandma till then? Where do they keep her? How do they keep her 'fresh?'" This is how I reacted to the death of my grandma, not with tears or heartache but with the very practical technical question of what they do with her body until the funeral.
I've heard there's no right way to grieve. I suppose that's true, even though I do feel odd about not "weeping or wailing" over the passing of my grandma. She was old and not well. Death brought a certain release from that state.
I will miss her. I will always miss her.
Love you.
Mean it.
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