At the age of only eight, I was in the very last place anyone would ever want to be. I was holding onto Mommy's hand; my own was trembling with fright. I need to be brave, I thought to myself. I need to be, for mommy. Mommy was dressed in a long black dress and small black heels, and she was wearing her long blonde hair down. I was dressed in a long, black dress with black shoes that clicked against the floor when I walked. I stared down at my feet, unsure of what was going to happen next. I felt the temperature of my body rising and my cheeks turning red, and even though my hand was sweaty and slippery, mommy never let go of it. My stomach tightened as we approached the huge oak doors, no one saying a word to each other. I felt dizzy, confused, and even if I had tried to say something, I wouldn't have been able to choke up the words. When my mom grasped the door and opened it slightly, I heard the soft voices of the people inside. It was almost as if they were whispering. Mommy opened the door completely, and daddy held the door way up high above my head for us as we walked through. Even though the room was packed with people, there was a cold and life-less aura about the room. I saw many people that I knew, like my grandma and many of my aunts, uncles, and cousins. But I also saw many people that I didn't know. People who I would probably never see again. I heard Mommy sniff, and when I looked up I saw that she had little tears rolling down her cheeks. We slowly walked towards my grandma, still holding hands. Mommy let go of my hand, as she opened her arms for a hug and embraced my grandma. My Aunt Kim bent down and gave me a long hug, and after awhile I could feel her heart beating so fast that I thought that it was going burst at any moment. She let go, and gave me a big, fake, forced smile. But I appreciated it anyways, because that fake smile filled me up with fake happiness inside. After a round of hugs and short whispered conversations with everyone, Mommy bent down and asked me quietly,

“Do you want to go up there with me now?”

I nodded, even though I didn't want to go because I was afraid. I felt her warm hand reach down and grab a hold of my own, and we walked up to the dark cherry casket together, not saying a word. First came the flowers, one by one they passed. Roses and Easter Lilies. Orchards and Carnations. And then he was right in front of us. My stomach lurched and told me to turn, run away, and never look back. But my heart told me to stay. It was as if my feet were cemented to the ground. The casket seemed to hang open, not knowing when to close itself. I looked right into his face, and remembered the times when I used sit in his lap and ride up and down in his remote control chair, the times when we got chocolate ice cream at the retirement home together, and the times we used to sit and talk about how the birds were always singing their beautiful songs right outside the window. But I realized that from that day on, there wouldn't be anymore chair rides, no more ice cream, and no more talks about the small wonders of life, because he was gone. I tried with all my might not to cry, but a stray tear slipped down my cheek anyways. I placed the card I was allowed to make for him into his casket, and stared painfully into his face again. Then, after a small prayer, we walked away. I stood by mommy while she talked, but after while I wandered off to explore the church by myself. It seemed to suck me into its dead ends, and its dark corridors. At times I was frightened and jumpy, but I always remembered that mommy and daddy were right around the corner if I needed them for some reason. I found a small nursery upstairs filled with toys and cribs, and a few unoccupied rooms. The nursery reminded me of my little brother, and how he and I would be lost in the world without Mommy or Daddy if it was one of them that had passed away, rather than Great Grandpa. It scared me to think of Mommy or Daddy, suddenly gone. I raced down the corridor and back down the stairs, finding Mommy at the end of them.

“It's time for us to sit down now,” mommy said, her voice still a bit shaky from crying.

We walked down the Chapel aisle; a white cross at the end. There before us, was the casket, open for what was the last time. We took our seats on the cold, hard, bench as Reverend Kathleen Kursch walked up to the front and stood. She was dressed in a white and black church gown, and she hair hung right above her shoulders. Her face was filled with sorrow, but it also appeared to be filled with hope and love. When all was quiet, she began speaking. I sat very close to mommy, close enough to feel her shaking. I tapped my shoes on the bottom of the wooden bench, because I couldn't understand most of what she was saying. The tapping seemed to echo in the church, and mommy tapped my leg lightly, which made me stop. I sat quietly, looking all around at the church windows. On one window, there was a colorful picture of a woman and a baby. Great Grandpa had always told me that every picture had a meaning behind it. That it had a story. That is was painted or draw for a reason. The lady in the glass was beautiful, just like Mommy. I turned around and faced the front, after Rev. Kursch called a familiar family member to the front of the church to say a few words. It was my grandma. After hearing her story, and the many stories that everyone had to share about my great-grandpa's life and his wonderful dedication to his family and to his community, the funeral service was over.

The entire church was weeping. I clung to Mommy, for I too was weeping. I didn't know what to say. No one knew what to say. I looked back and saw the pain across the faces of more than fifty people. And that scared me. For the first time in my life, I felt like I had been living a fantasy for eight years, and then had been brutally jolted back to reality. Like I had grown up in a split second. Like my heart was being shattered into a million pieces. Or like I was slowly dying inside. I took one last look at him as Rev. Kursch slowly shut his casket, and when all was quiet and peaceful, I realized that the birds too, were no longer singing.