Oct 2015
I went to the hospital to see him because they told the family that he would soon pass but he was holding on for something.
He was my moms father, my grandad.
All I saw was him lying there on the hospital bed basically dead. He was suffering so much to just be able to breathe.
I watched his chest beating but I knew the machines beside the bed were making him breathe.
I know he wanted to let go.
He couldn't speak, nor see.
I held his head in my hands and said goodbye and kissed his forehead.
We left the hospital.
The next morning we got a call saying he died in his sleep last night.
I couldn't even bring the tears to my eyes.
It was just shock.
I saw his only the night before, still alive but barely.
It's Wednesday morning and the funeral is at two.
I'm wearing this ugly black dress that's too long for my liking but we have to be appropriate because "that's what he would want"
He was a horrible man, he cut me and my family out of his life ten years ago, wanting nothing to do with us.
He wouldn't even recognize me now.
It was an open casket and he looked like a stuffed doll.
A wedding ring on his finger and a nice suit and tie around his body.
I was waiting for him to wake up, saying that he wasn't really dead, the suffering just magically stopped.
I rest my hand on his shoulder and his body was so cold I could feel the ice stretch through my arms making my body shiver.
They led us through a dark room and told us to take our seats.
The pastor only talked about God when my grandad wasn't even a Christian man.
Asking us to raise our hands if we had excepted Jesus Christ into our hearts and all these hands were raised in the air except mine.
I felt his eyes stare me down so I put my head down staring at the tile my black heels were standing on.
The floor was caving in and it was hard to breathe.
There was an American flag resting on his casket.
I realized that this funeral wasn't for the dead, it was for the people who were still alive.
It wasn't a celebration for the man laying in the casket.
It was a gathering for people to whisper and judge.
He was my moms father, my grandad.
All I saw was him lying there on the hospital bed basically dead. He was suffering so much to just be able to breathe.
I watched his chest beating but I knew the machines beside the bed were making him breathe.
I know he wanted to let go.
He couldn't speak, nor see.
I held his head in my hands and said goodbye and kissed his forehead.
We left the hospital.
The next morning we got a call saying he died in his sleep last night.
I couldn't even bring the tears to my eyes.
It was just shock.
I saw his only the night before, still alive but barely.
It's Wednesday morning and the funeral is at two.
I'm wearing this ugly black dress that's too long for my liking but we have to be appropriate because "that's what he would want"
He was a horrible man, he cut me and my family out of his life ten years ago, wanting nothing to do with us.
He wouldn't even recognize me now.
It was an open casket and he looked like a stuffed doll.
A wedding ring on his finger and a nice suit and tie around his body.
I was waiting for him to wake up, saying that he wasn't really dead, the suffering just magically stopped.
I rest my hand on his shoulder and his body was so cold I could feel the ice stretch through my arms making my body shiver.
They led us through a dark room and told us to take our seats.
The pastor only talked about God when my grandad wasn't even a Christian man.
Asking us to raise our hands if we had excepted Jesus Christ into our hearts and all these hands were raised in the air except mine.
I felt his eyes stare me down so I put my head down staring at the tile my black heels were standing on.
The floor was caving in and it was hard to breathe.
There was an American flag resting on his casket.
I realized that this funeral wasn't for the dead, it was for the people who were still alive.
It wasn't a celebration for the man laying in the casket.
It was a gathering for people to whisper and judge.
