The Funeral

I don't know why it has taken me this long to write about my grandfathers' funeral, but I couldn't bring myself to remember last Friday. I don't know what I was expecting, but going to the church that my grandfather was baptized in, where he grew up; made his loss that much more real to me.

I remember waking up at the crack of dawn, getting dressed in all black, numb to the Scottish cold; and driving twenty minutes to my Grandmothers' house and seeing all of my aunts, uncles, and cousins.We shuffled into black limousines and drove to the church. Ten minutes after the service had started I finally noticed the coffin, a few seconds later I remembered that my grandfather was in there. I have never cried so hard in my life, maybe it was the realization that he was but a lifeless corpse, that his life came down to an hour and a half service with a room full of about fifty-five people; or the realization that he would never be a phone call away, that i would never hear another corny joke, or that i would never again feel his frail arms wrap around me desperately trying to remember all the moments we shared together...

When the service came to a close we returned to the black cars and went to the crematory, after a fifteen minute speech the minister had previously prepared, the red curtains closed, forever taking my grandfather. His body turned to ash, ready for us to scatter next summer. After the funeral and cremation we all went to a pub called "The Back Yard" ... I don't think the events that took place there were important, so it's not even worth writing down. All I know is that I have never felt more alone in my entire life, and I have absolutely no one to talk to, all I have is him.