Narrative Essay On Funeral Home

On October 9th, 2013, my Grandmother died from cancer. Two days later we were at the funeral home a couple of minutes away from her house in urban Philadelphia. When we got out of our car I felt a strong brisk of wind and a cold chilling sense down my spine, “This isn’t going to be a good day. ” I thought to myself and walked up the ramp and into the funeral home. I immediately noticed an overwhelming smell. Like elders and salt, probably from the tears that were shed here. I looked around and walked over to the waiting room, the TV was previewing photos of her getting older throughout the years and played her favorite band faintly, ABBA.

After the compilation of photos ended, it was time to go into her room. I soon noticed that the curtains let in beams of light through the small design on the top corners and the middle, forging a cross. They shined brightly, it looked like the light beams were telling us that heaven was fetching her soul from her body, as my mother said. Later, we hastily, but bitterly went through the process of all her daughters (my aunts) and her brother (my great uncle) saying their goodbyes first, then my cousins, Rowan, and I’s turn to proceed. Hey buddy, it’s your turn to go in,” My pastor hinted as he guided me with his hand on my back. We all lined up and held her hand one at a time. I was happy to see that she was still wearing the rainbow loom that my brother and I made for her when she was in Hospice. She thanked ups and kissed us goodbye after we gave them to her, and that was the last we’d seen her alive. “Remember when you lived with us Grandmom,” I murmured beside her,” you always sliced strawberries for us before Rowan and I went to school? ” | gripped her hand tightly and walked out of the room.

Finally, family members from my dad’s side who’d wished to say their goodbyes as well were privileged to go in themselves. When I walked out of the room, I looked for my mother, scanning the chairs and sofa with tissues on the end tables beside them. I peered around the corner and saw her crying on the small couch, tissues at her lap. I tried tried to comfort my Mom,”It’s okay Mom, she’s in a better place now,” I cooed. I didn’t know what it’s like to lose a parent or anyone particularly close to me. As a result, I didn’t comprehend what they were going through emotionally.

When we walked out of the room, an employee closed the casket slowly and delicately. That was the last time I saw her, period. The only loss I’ve had before that was my pet fish. My younger cousins didn’t comprehend what death really was. Besides, they were only five and seven. They thought it just meant going to sleep or to take a nap, but my older cousins, brother, and I knew she wasn’t going to wake up any time soon. I began thinking to myself that a couple of days ago, she was up and walking. It seemed as if she was going to pull through her cancer successfully.

Who would’ve thought she was going to die? “Why did she die? ” | began to ask myself, my mother then called me into the room outside her casket and notified me that I was going to be a pallbearer. “Nate, your Grandmom has chosen you, Uncle Walt, and your other uncles to be her pallbearers. ” In her will, she listed me as one of them that she inclined for me to have this part in her inhumation. However, I didn’t want to be one because it would make me even more taken down about her death, but I thought of what she asked for and endorsed her decision.

“Sure Mom, but what is that? ” I questioned. A pallbearer is someone who carries the casket over to the hearse, out of the eharse, and to the grave. ” She explained. “Do you still want to do it? ” She asked again. “Mom, if she wants me to do it, then sure. ” I promised to her that I would “Thanks honey,” she cooed as she hugged me tightly. ” About five minutes later, the five other pallbearers called me over, “One.. Two.. Three.. ” my Uncle commanded as everyone lifted the casket. I didn’t have to do much lifting, but I enjoyed that. We slid her casket into the hearse and slowly shut the door, as if we were trying not to wake her up.

It looked just as it did in the movies with the white cloth around the windows on the sides and back so you could see the casket through the glass. Then, the hearse started to drive away and stopped at the turn into the crossroad. We all got in our cars and followed the hearse, our danger lights blinking in unison. When we pulled up to the grave marker we all got out of our cars, my uncles adjusted their ties. I walked over to the hearse with my family, the uniformed driver with a black cap opened the back door and slid out the casket on the metal rails that she was held steady on during the commute.

It smelled like freshly cut grass. I looked around and spotted the grave marker, a red flag strung high into the air, the cold breeze followed, almost tearing the flimsy flag off its pole. “Okay,” my uncle notified in sorrow,” one… two… three! ” We carried the casket over to the grave that was dug for her, the cold steel chilled my hands, making them numb. All the memories that we shared flashed before my eyes, I started crying silently, “I’m going to miss you, Grandmom,” I murmured under my breath as the music played.

My Grandmother requested for bagpipers to play for her funeral; a duet of two bagpipers played a Swedish song as she was carefully placed down onto her grave cover. We threw down white and red roses and artifacts that my aunts brought. “Is this is the last time I will see you? ” I asked myself as the flowers piled upon her casket. my pastor gave a final blessing, and we dispersed and got into our cars. When we walked away from that grave, I realized that life is too short to waste, and we need to live it to the fullest.