When I learned that my Uncle Denny passed away, I was very upset. It didn’t really “hit me” yet. I still didn’t feel it when I was at school, figure skating, or even at his wake!

CREEK! I heard as the heavy door opened. It was my first time ever being in a Catholic Church. The tall building was made of bricks and had a steeple at the top. On the inside, there were many beautiful and colorful stain-glass windows and figures of people in the Bible.

As the funeral went on, I turned my head slightly and saw my grandmother tearing up.

“I’ve never seen you cry, Nana,” I said with a shaky voice.

It made my eyes water and my palms get sweaty. Her eyes began to turn red. You could see the veins. I sniffled back my tears and took a few deep breaths. I became calm. As my family and I started walking down the church aisle to leave, it finally “hit me” that he was gone. I was never going to see him again. Talk to him again. Make a Christmas or birthday card for him again. I would never eat his delicious, juicy Thanksgiving turkey. This time, I couldn’t hold back the tears. My face got red. My tears became a waterfall, streaming down my face. My grandmother hugged me tight and cried too. We sobbed in each other’s arms. After we stopped, she kissed me on the head.

“Uncle Denny is in a better place now. He won’t be in pain from his tumor. He will always be with you sweetheart,” said my grandmother.

We were tearing up again, but after a few seconds we were okay. We looked at each other, then the ashes. We realized it was our final goodbye to Uncle Denny.