It is 7:15am and every one is getting ready. The men and boys are putting on their suits. The women and girls are putting on their black dresses. I am already ready and am trying to help others. As I watch my grandma tries to stay busy, but every now and then she will stop and stare with a grave expression on her face. I know she is fighting back the tears.
It is now time. Time for the funeral to start. I watch as the coffin bearers carry my grandfathers' coffin into the awaiting vehicle. I watch as all the people around me suffer as they remember him. The vehicle drives away and we follow it all the way to the church. At the church the priest does the funeral service.
After the service the coffin is once again loaded into the vehicle. This time we go to the cemetery. The coffin is then carried out to the deep grave. No one is smiling. The only noises to be heard are noises of pain and suffering. Tears well up in the eyes of those around me.
I am starting to worry, where are my tears? Did I not love my grandfather? With that thought I am over whelmed with sadness. I watch as those around me, even my dad, cry. Even the mariachi band hired to sing my grandfathers favorite songs, occasionally swipe a tear from their cheeks.
As the funeral progresses people begin to speak. I can't understand them because they are speaking in Spanish. I feel as though I am a small child, unable to comprehend the depths of what is going on around me. But the small children around me do understand. I watch as the cry, holding on to their mothers their faces buried.
Now is the time for the coffin to be lowered into the ground. As we watch it my aunt, the youngest of her siblings, cries out to my grandfather. Everyone is now bursting out into tears and sobbing into shoulders. My feelings of sadness become feelings of guilt and frustration. I still haven't shed a single tear. I tried and tried. I thought of how my grandma was feeling, but the tears would not come. I feel as though I have failed my grandfather. I have to reassure myself that I do love him. He was my grandfather how could I not love him? With his funny accent and comforting songs. I do love my grandfather.
After the funeral there was a small gathering for food. Then every day for seven days a rosary was held on the patio. On the last day the rosary was said at the grave. Through out the whole time I still hadn't shed a tear. I look at his picture on the tombstone, he looked so happy and so loving. “What's the matter mi hija?” my grandfather said picking me up and setting me on his lap.
“Papa where is Chikita?” I had asked.
My grandpa had taken a deep breath “Chikita is dead. We buried her while you were at school.”
Sorrow began to fill me up and I started to cry. “Don't cry mi hija” my grandpa comforted. “Don't cry.” Suddenly my grandpa was turning away from me and coughing violently, covering his face with his arm.
“Papa,” I asked tears still streaming down my face with a sudden realization, “are you going to die too?”
There was a long silence before he had answered me. “Yes” he finally said. Then he began to sing and I fell asleep. As I remember I know, I don't have to cry to say 'I love you!”
