Funerals aren't for the Dead,

they're for the living. Seriously.

So after I received the news of my grandfather's passing I had to reschedule a few tests and miss some reviews so I could be with my family. We got to my grandparent's house on Wednesday afternoon, and it was eerily quiet. I'm used to being there with at least my older cousins there (during the winter) or my little cousins there (during the summer, 'cause they live nearby). But it was just my dad, mom, grandma, and I. Like I said, eerie...and a bit lonely.

Well that night was the viewing. Now a viewing is when people outside of the family (old friends, nurses and other colleagues, patients -  my granddad was a pediatric surgeon) can come in and view the body of the person that has died. We (meaning the four people mentioned in the first paragraph) were supposed to stay there for the full five hours. I knew I wouldn't be able to get through the viewing without crying at least once, so when my mum (about 30 minutes in) decided to go get a look at granddad in the coffin, I grabbed her arm and walked in beside her. I had no idea it would affect me as badly as it did. See, some people have to see the dead body to truly let go and let themselves be free. Or something like that, I'm not sure. I'm just positive now that I can't do that, because the minute I came within two yards of that coffin I stopped dead in my tracks and said
"Mom, I'm not going any closer."

She had told me in the car drive back to our house (a day prior) about when her grandmother died. Her family was insistent that she go look in the coffin. Insistent to the point that her father (my grandpa) grabbed her by the arm and tried to drag her in. But she said that the corpse inside was just a husk, something that used to house her grandmother's soul but no longer did. I guess that was my reaction. I hated seeing that: my grandfather, so full of life and funny stories now covered in all the makeup and whatsoever to make them look better after they die. I couldn't stand there and look at him...at it. That's what I said when my mom came to get me out of the other room (which was away from the other people). "I can't look at it mom, it's not him. It's just...just a thing."

I cried, like most other people would, took a few laps around the building in the bitter cold, then came back in and was fine for the rest of the evening. The funeral and service happened the next day and passed quickly, which was just fine with me. I also got a chance to see all my cousins who I won't get to see this Christmas, which was way fun. And even though it seemed like nothing had changed, everyone was still as happy and talkative as ever, I realized something...someone, someone very close to us was missing. there was a hole at the end of the dinner table where he used to sat. Whenever we would say grace he'd squeeze my hand and tease me by poking me with his thumbnail, and I'd respond by doing the same. I'm gonna miss that. There's just an empty chair there, and I can't sit there. I tried, but I couldn't. It hurt too much.

It was funny though...all through the funeral service I had Bob Marley's "Don't Worry Be Happy" running around in my head...a sign maybe? I don't know. He's up there watching us though, keeping an eye on us.

Mom and I boarded the plane today with a sigh of relief to have it finally be over. Or at least I did. It was a late flight, and we reached the city of Dallas just as the Sun was beginning to set over the horizon, casting blood-red and bright orange streaks along the clouds surrounding the city. That whole day I'd just been thinking about what had gone on this week, what was coming up in the next few weeks (finals, meeting old friends, etcetera), and I was worrying. No reason, I'm just a worrier. Then I looked out the window and noticed the Sun's golden rays reflecting off of the many pools and lakes in Dallas, making it seem like someone had taken nuggets of gold and thrown them all over the countryside. It was dazzling, and is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen, and the moment I saw that I knew everything was gonna be all right. Meeting the old friends, passing my tests, everything seemed to melt away. "Don't worry, be happy" I hummed, then leaned my head against the window and watched the jewels glitter in the sunset.

Goodnight everyone, good luck on finals (to those of you who have them)!

Something You Never Want To Think About...

...is Death.

Or rather, a death in the family.

Truly, it IS something one never likes to think about. Death really is an ugly thing; not how you die, but why it happens. I mean, your heart stops beating, you cease to breathe, all higher brain functions cease, and you begin to rot from the inside out. Its cause of all the bacteria that live in your body, and all the creatures that go "Ooh! Dead meat!! NOM NOM" after you cease to exist. It's a frightening prospect when you think about it, having creatures crawl all over your flesh, in and out of your body, reproducing and eating away at you until you're nothing but a pile of bones stuck in a casket. It's bothersome, thinking that that will happen some day.

Even worse, death takes us by surprise. No matter how ready you think you are for it, learning someone close to you (or just someone you know) has died is like Life pulling back its arm and socking you in the stomach. That's what it feels like. Pure shock. It's kind of like having a baby: you prepare and you prepare, and then you prepare some more, but when the big day comes you go "WTF AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?!" and then you deal with it. But see, death is harder to cope with because, instead of bringing a new life into the world, life is taken out of the world. Then we have to deal with funerals, caskets, and how to tell the family what happened. When the funeral rolls around, you have a roomful of people sobbing and holding each other, which is just awkward. I've made up my mind though: When I die, I want to be cremated, and have a preacher say a few words, then at the reception, I want plenty of wine and a band playing some good old King Oliver dixieland jazz. Like a New Orleans funeral. None of this "dressing in black and sobbing" stuff.

I'm talking about this because, recently, my grandfather died. Recently being Saturday. We knew it was coming, and we understood that it had to happen, either before or after Christmas. We hoped he would be around till New Year's, but fate has a funny way of going "F*** you!" and kicking your hopes in the groin. I wasn't expecting it. I thought I was in the homestretch, finals were in sight, and last-minute tests in my classes were coming to a close. Then, Saturday, as my friends and I readied ourselves for a drive-through safari, my dad calls.
That's weird...dad usually doesn't call this early in the day. I thought. But I picked up the phone, stepped out of the car (we were still in the parking lot), and talked to him. He told me hello, asked me where I was, then proceeded to give the WORST news one could possibly receive on a sunny, cool Saturday morning. "Hey sweets, your granddad died this morning. Went to bed last night and never woke up."

My breath caught, my heart stopped for a split second, and I sort of hung there outside of the car for a minute, not saying anything. I could hear my friends behind me trying to get things set up in the car, so I moved away. I realized I had to get everything with my teachers sorted out by Monday (today) of this week so I could attend the funeral. But through all of that, one thought prevailed. My Granddad is Dead.

After I got off the phone, I just sort of stood there, then moved to the fence and hung over it as I started to cry. My friend walked over and asked me what was wrong, and I dropped the bombshell on her, who immediately wrapped her arms around me and began to walk me over to the car. I didn't discuss it for the rest of the trip.

When I got home that night I vlogged about it, talking about how cool he had been, and how much I would miss him. I wondered whether or not I should have gone up to Nebraska over Thanksgiving weekend to say one last goodbye before...before the inevitable happened. But then I stopped and realized something. I know, right now, he's up there watching me. I may be questioning my faith as a Christian (in truth, I can't really call myself one now), but I think there's an afterlife...and I think he's somewhere, in some other world, watching. Now he can watch me grow, listen to me play piano, and make sure I don't get into any trouble...all of these things he could never watch me do because we lived so far away. And that made me happy.

He had been raised near Foster Creek, NE ("Foster crick" as he would say), and would always tell me funny stories about how once he caught a bear down there, just using a piece of fishing line and a fish. He told me how to catch moose in Colorado (they have a cabin in Grand Lake) by rigging a line that would drop salt on its tail (somehow this would pacify the moose, I have yet to try this). When I was going through my dinosaur craze when I was little, he would tell me he once fought a T-Rex with his bare hands, and took him out with one punch:
"This hand!" he said, pointing to his right one. "This hand took him out. Best be careful. I have a registered license for this hand, it's so dangerous."
I'd say "Granddad, there are no dinosaurs now!"
"Are you sure? I'm pretty sure I beat one! But he got away before I could catch 'im." I'd laugh and try to tell him stuff like that didn't exist, but he didn't care. Of course, all of these stories were stories to tease me with (which he would do all the time) and keep me entertained when I was bored.  He still told me stories like that even after I got to old to hear them. The last time I spoke to him on the phone (Thanksgiving week), he said he couldn't hear me, so I said "I'll put my mouth closer to the phone, then!" He replied "Be careful! You might bite it! I lost five teeth that way!"

He was a brilliant pediatric surgeon before retirement, was in the Marines, and was probably the most stubborn and headstrong person I've ever known (aside from my dad...his son). By the end he was having people do everything for him: feed him, clothe him, take him to the toilet...an insult to someone with his personality.

I won't remember that though. I'll remember the stories, the smell of pipe smoke and old cologne, the moose-baiting stories and how he once punched out a T-Rex with his bare hands. I'll remember how he always had something nice to say about my piano playing, even when I didn't do that well.
Moreover, I'll remember he was my granddad: I will never forget him, and I will always love him.


To you Granddad - From your Granddaughter with all the love in the world.