A six-year-old me would never have thought I would ever be so unhappy and distressed in all my life until my first funeral.  I had never attended a funeral, and I had never really experienced a death before in all my life.  I enjoyed getting dressed up to the nines and driving to Canada, even though we had been there little over a month before, to visit family.  Little did I know that being snazzy would not equate to a happy occasion.  I hated the six-hour car ride that felt like twice that.  Luckily for me, I had a Gameboy with Yoshi’s Island, my portable best friend.  When the long car ride ended, I immediately departed from the car to stretch my stiff legs that twitched with the pain of needles in them.  That day was a picture perfect example of what a nice summer’s day is supposed to be.  The warm sunrays illuminated everything and my relatives as though they were angels, coming down to reclaim one of their fallen.  After I finished stretching, I noticed a nice looking building with many familiar and unfamiliar faces. 

Once inside the building, I saw my grandparents, my aunts and uncles, some cousins, and other relatives I did not know.  I acted excited and chipper throughout the entire walk-in; however, the depressing, gloomy atmosphere dampered my mood.  My exalted mood, with a pep in my step, quickly halted when I heard cries as loud as thunder come from loved ones.  I’d been a fool for not putting everything together, but how could I?  I was only six.  Everyone there seemed to have understood what had happened, but I was still there figuring out the conundrum like Batman did with the Riddler’s enigmas.  I walked up to my great grandmother and saw her frail hands held up to her face.  I asked, “What’s wrong?”  My great-grandmother tried to speak but couldn’t.  She just stood in front of the casket.  I had no clue what a casket was until they opened it up, and I saw my great-grandfather lying without a breath.  I went into a trans of dysphoria.  I knew, and when it all connected, I blew up.  I thought, ‘What is this?  What do I do?’ 

I flashbacked to the time my great grandfather and I went fishing in the watering hole and caught the most colorful, slimiest rainbow trout in all of Canada.  A rush of emotions flooded my heart, and I cried so much I could have filled the Caspian Sea twice over.  I used my tie to dry my eyes and refused to look up.  I became only the second person to start crying there, and when I started, everyone else started crying.  My grandpa and mom tried calming me down, but that only made me cry more.  I finally calmed down when my great grandmother came and asked to hold my hand.  Instinctively, I gave her my hand because we needed each other to get through the rest of the day.

I sat next to her during the eulogy, her hand in mine through the entire speech.  I looked up every now and again to catch her crying on her handkerchief.  I tried crying too, but I ran out of tears; so whenever I saw her cry, I would say something.  “It’s ok, Gramma. I am here with you,” I said.  It was at that moment I felt more sophisticated and understood what compassion meant without the definition being read to me.  After my grandpa finished reminiscing about the good times he had with his father, the morticians shut and moved the casket to a transportation van.

We all entered our cars and the “OPP,” Canadian police, escorted the vehicles to the cemetery.  Ironically, Bob Marley’s “Every Little Thing Is Gonna Be Alright” played on the radio.  I exited the car and ran to my great grandmother’s side and my hand reached for hers.  I watched as the casket was lowered into the grave, and I quietly recited the tombstone’s text: “Douglas Thompson.”  As he reached seven feet below, I had a quick recollection of the times I had with him, like the time I helped him in the workshop.  We made wooden tables and canes for family and loved ones.  I felt better.  Years later, I found a wooden cane with my name on it that he had started but never finished. Thinking of this now all I can say is I love him.

“Requiescat in pace.”