It was just another day during spring break. I remember this as if it was yesterday. Waking up to see the lights shining through my windows and reflecting off my mirrors. I snake off my blankets and drop my feet on the carpet and started my way to the kitchen.

“Good morning mom.” I said yawning. But there was no reply
“Mom?” I asked. I saw her hands draped over her mouth and the phone to her ear. What happen?
“Mom are you okay?” I said sounding a little anxious. As if the world had stopped, my mom was in utter shock. Tears are racing down her tan face, Ive never seen my mom cry this much… so I knew this couldn’t have been good.

A couple of days later, as family gathered for the last showing of my grandpa Weller, I couldn’t help, but I couldn’t cry. It’s not that I didn’t care, because I did, I just couldn’t get myself to have tears, but I wanted to be strong, and I was. I was there to be somebody’s shoulder to cry on, whether I knew them or not. I still knew how they felt. That day even the “toughest” guys were crying. At first, I felt guilty for not crying. I don’t get emotional as much as other people. But I still cared.

A week past and it was the day of the funeral. Even more people showed up. We all sat down as the pastor talked and read from the bible. As he started talking, he started into a scenario that really caught everybody’s attention. He said,
“You know when you’re little and you get stung by a bee, and you would go crying to your mom and she would kiss it better. Even though she kissed it, you still felt pain. The stinger was still in there, and so was the death”.
  Then he said….
“God has to pull that stinger out. It’s going to hurt after, but time heals everything.”

The scenery outside was muggy. Green leaves seem to not be in their best shape, flower no longer gave off that welcoming feeling. But then again, this is a funeral home and it was raining. Step by step you heard people walking, and then a clang with every car door shutting. Were still standing outside the funeral home.

I saw my dad and uncles, along with some people I didn’t know, help carry out the casket.  It was beaded with flowers of all colors. Blues, pinks, and purples… Yellows, greens and oranges.. The bitter rain poured down on everyone’s cheeks and washed away their tears.

Holding all sides of the casket, shuffling down the mossy green carpet on the ramp outside the funeral home. Mud splashed with every step they took. Every inch they took led him closer to the hearse that was going to carry his body to the cemetery. I’m not going to lie, it really made everything sink in. It brought out the death in the family just seeing it. The only thing that really stood out was the orange flag at the top with number 1 on it. That stood for the first car out of the bunch.

Heads were hung down and the hands of people were in their pockets, I can bet you we all left that funeral home, hoping we would never get to see that place again.  In the car, it was a different story. Instead of crying we were laughing, and at this moment, it made me think of the moment my other grandpa said, “You cry at a wedding but laugh at a funeral.” At first, I had no clue what he meant and why he said that, but now I know the reason behind this quote that is greatly misunderstood.

Tires running over wet gravel gave a ring to every car that passed. With footprints in the mud and tissues in people’s hands, we all knew that this was our last chaos. Within this leveled ground laid a hole 6ft down, with a casket just above it. My grandpa.

People all around, holding hands and letting everything loose, sobbing and wiping their noses. The preacher man said,
“May this loved man, lay in peace with God knowing, his family and friends will always have him in their hearts.”