It was a cold December night and the air was moist and brisk that covered my body in goosebumps. It was the time of year where the snow evaded Michigan streets. I was at my grandmother’s house and I could smell cinnamon and hot chocolate that was preparing me for what I thought would be a good night’s sleep. It all happened at 2:30 am. I began to panic and scream for my granny’s name. I felt the brisk cold air hit my face. I was alone and scared. My granny never came and I began to cry, hoping that my dream was false. I recall this dream because it was months after my great-grandmother had passed. The atmosphere was filled with grief and a sense of divide because she was the glue that held the family together. The sadness that filled the room made me vulnerable in a moment that I felt I should have been the strongest. I was young and had no clear understanding of the meaning of death. It was my first funeral and eventually became my last. The coldness of the air was overpowering that quickly dried the tears that appeared on my face. My family appeared so broken because cancer finally took away the one good thing in our family. The funeral was so packed and overwhelming that I stayed attached to my mother’s hips as a sense of comfort. The casket was shiny metallic silver that caught my eye as she was slowly being carried across the bitter green grass. I couldn’t process what …show more content…
I remember how drenched her tissue was and her constant shaking that made me run to hold her hand. The grip tight of her hand in mine made me see just how sad she was. I stood there in my black dress that was hidden by my pea coat that kept me warm in my fairly worn black flats. I was constantly looking down to hide the tears that continuously fell down like teardrops of snow in the wintertime. I remember tapping my grandmother’s shoulder and
I rushed out of the bedroom confused. I began to realize what was going on. I ran to where I last saw her and she was not there. Never before I felt my heart sank. My eyes filled with tears. I dropped to my knees and felt the cold white tile she last swept and mopped for my family. I look up and around seeing picture frames of of her kids, grandchildren, and great grandchildren smiling. I turn my head to the right and see the that little statue of the Virgin Mary, the last gift we gave her. I began to cry and walked to my mother hugging her. My father walked dreadfully inside the house. He had rushed my great grandmother to the hospital but time has not on his side. She had a bad heart and was not taking her medication. Later that morning, many people I have never seen before came by to pray. I wandered why this had to happen to her. So much grief and sadness came upon
I looked around at everyone in the room and saw the sorrow in their eyes. My eyes first fell on my grandmother, usually the beacon of strength in our family. My grandmother looked as if she had been crying for a very long period of time. Her face looked more wrinkled than before underneath the wild, white hair atop her head. The face of this once youthful person now looked like a grape that had been dried in the sun to become a raisin. Her hair looked like it had not been brushed since the previous day as if created from high wispy clouds on a bright sunny day.
The first time I thought I saw my dead grandfather was two nights after we buried him, when I saw a black mass at the foot of my bed and he was towards the front of my mind. I closed my eyes and hoped it wasn’t him, that he was at peace, finally; I hoped he had finished those waffles. When I opened my eyes again, I saw the reflection of the moon in my mirrored closet doors, and nothing more.
When discussing any topic, from medicines to death, history is always relevant. Funeral service dates back to 1685, which involved providing mourning merchandise to the society. Many undertakers at this time in history were also furniture builders, building the coffins for burial, as well as other household furniture. It wasn’t until the 19th century that funeral directors were utilized often. Before this time, families took care of their deceased loved ones. Around the time of the civil war embalming was introduced and shed a new light on funeral service. Listed below is a brief summary of some important events in funeral service history.
Big Mama's Funeral Gabriel García Márquez story, Big Mama's Funeral, is a story filled with fantastical scenes and events, much in line with Don Quixote and Candide. The introductory paragraphs of Big Mama's Funeral and Candide sound so similar in voice the two authors could be mistaken for the same. In Candide, one finds a series of episodes that are so far from the truth and yet perfectly explainable. The story of the fate of Dr. Pangloss, the death and resurrection of Cunegund and of her Jesuit brother, and the story of the old woman with one buttock are farcical in the same way as the episodes in Big Mama's Funeral.
I figured someone had passed away, but I didn't think much of it. My father spoke to me in a very calm and soft voice with tears in his eyes. In between his words you could hear the hurt. He told me that my godmother had passed away. I sat there not knowing what to say, but could feel the hurt overwhelm me.
I can still remember that small enclosed, claustrophobic room containing two armed chairs and an old, brown, paisley print couch my dad and I were sitting on when he told me. “The doctors said there was little to no chance that your mother is going to make it through this surgery.” Distressed, I didn’t know what to think; I could hardly comprehend those words. And now I was supposed to just say goodbye? As I exited that small room, my father directed me down the hospital hallway where I saw my mother in the hospital bed. She was unconscious with tubes entering her throat and nose keeping her alive. I embraced her immobile body for what felt like forever and told her “I love you” for what I believed was the last time. I thought of how horrific it was seeing my mother that way, how close we were, how my life was going to be without her, and how my little sisters were clueless about what was going on. After saying my farewells, I was brought downstairs to the hospital’s coffee shop where a million things were running
As I walked through the door of the funeral home, the floral arrangements blurred into a sea of vivid colors. Wiping away my tears, I headed over to the collage of photographs of my grandfather. His smile seemed to transcend the image on the pictures, and for a moment, I could almost hear his laughter and see his eyes dancing as they tended to do when he told one of his famous jokes. My eyes scanned the old photographs, searching for myself amidst the images. They came to rest on a photo of Grandpa holding me in his lap when I was probably no more than four years old. The flowers surrounding me once again blended into an array of hues as I let my mind wander……
I woke up before dawn on a Saturday. I almost grumbled about the early hour when I remembered why I was up so early, Stephanie’s funeral. “Pull it together,” I thought to myself as I almost started crying. This was going to be a difficult day. My older sister, Sarah, and I pulled on our nice dresses and were out of the house by eight fifteen. We now had a long drive to our uncle’s house in Atlanta.
the story is composed of five parts. The first part narrates the death and funeral of Emely Grierson. It states that the whole town wants to go to her funeral especially because they want to see the vestige of a monument that is falling. Women want to see the inside of the house while men are interested on the fallen monument. Emely does not pay taxes after her father’s death.
During the last moments of my mother’s life she was surrounded by loved ones, as she slowly slipped away into the morning with grace and peace.
I sat silently on a rock with my grandpa in the palm of my hand, i was remembering the events of my life with him. From the first time I met him, to the last time I saw him. His remains were clutched tightly in my left hand. My grandpa 's old poems went through my head. One stood out in particular.
There I was running around and playing while everyone grieved. I had no knowledge of what we were gathered for, all I knew was that it was fun to pretend I was Alice in wonderland. The halls and walls lined up with flowers and flowered ornaments all throughout the house. The house wasn’t as dull as it would usually be, it was alive with colors now. My little black shoes shiny and cute with a big black bow right in the center, and my sparkly fluffy dress stood out from all the others. This vivid yet faint memory of what I thought was a family reunion was really my grandmother’s wake. My mother’s eyes swollen and red from all her crying, I thought if she would only eat something maybe she wouldn’t feel like crying so much. I remember standing
I miss her and I’ll miss her always. My aunt, Catherine passed away on Christmas 1997, and it was the biggest chock for my whole family and me. I was living in Syria at that time and my parents flew to Switzerland for the funeral.
On the day my father died, I remember walking home from school with my cousin on a November fall day, feeling the falling leaves dropping off the trees, hitting my cold bare face. Walking into the house, I could feel the tension and knew that something had happened by the look on my grandmother’s face. As I started to head to the refrigerator, my mother told me to come, and she said that we were going to take a trip to the hospital.