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The crisp chill in the air mocked the frigid faces of my family on the day of my grandfather’s funeral. As people filed in, mingling, hugging, and sharing memories of my grandfather, I felt alone. I was a robot, smiling and greeting long lost relatives, saying it’s ok even though I knew I wasn’t.
I remember as a child, longing to visit my grandfather, listening to funny jokes and stories of war time struggle. I knew I always was a star in my papa’s eyes. My grandpa was my biggest fan. He never missed a game until he became ill and bed ridden. Having him absent from the stands was like a hole in my heart. He was a big man with an even bigger heart. That is why I was his biggest fan.
All of the thoughts and memories of our time together flashed through my mind like a silent movie, on the day they buried him. The sun was shining brightly and the smell of the flowers that draped over his casket danced through the air. The soft strum of the guitar swelled up the emotions like a volcano of erupting tears, only to be shocked by the sound of the gunfire, as I listened to his final salute.
Even though going through my grandfather’s funeral was the hardest thing I have ever had to do, I realize now that celebrating his life through my memories of him have helped me cope with losing my great grandpa.

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