Let me start out by saying this - if you are a member of my family, there is a possibility that you will NOT want to read this entry. I need to get some things out there (therapy costs too much, so this is the next best thing) and I do not want your perceptions changing when it comes to me talking about Grandpa's cremation.
Any person reading this who knows me knows that my grandpa meant the absolute world to me. He was the one male in my life who treated me with respect no matter what I did, he was never mean to me, he loved me for the person I was and for the person that I wanted to become. When I was growing up, I was a terrible teen, which made living with my grandparents a chore for us all. I would stay out late without calling, I stole their vehicles, and I had parties when they were gone. Somehow they managed to still love me.
When Grandpa got sick and it was pretty much inevitable that he was going to die, I prayed that God would take me instead. I felt like I was the one who deserved to be taken from this earth because I was such a shitty kid. Grandpa didn't have a mean bone in his body - he respected everyone that he met, he loved his family and friends more than anything in the world - and he was sick and dying.
I lost my hero on August 10, right around 4 in the afternoon. Damian and I had just sat down to eat our dinner, Gambit was napping. Mom called. When I saw her name on the caller I.D. of my phone, I already knew. I answered and she said my name but it was shaky. I remember sitting there for a minute, not speaking, not crying... not really sure what I was supposed to do. I mean, I knew this day was coming at any moment... I was supposed to be prepared.
On the final day of showing at the funeral home, I decided to say a few words for Grandpa. Never in my life have I had to do something so hard. I carry around my speech with a picture of him and a prayer card in my wallet.
My sister and cousin spoke at the funeral - they read Bible verses. I was so proud of them for getting up there in front of everyone and honoring our grandpa.
Last weekend we buried his ashes at the cemetery. The weather was beautiful the whole week leading up to October 9, which is when we had the memorial. The week before was cold and gloomy - it makes me feel like Grandpa ordered the special weather for us. When it was time to put the box of ashes into the ground, I volunteered. I took the box from Grandma, kneeled on the ground and cried, then as carefully as I could, I placed my grandpa in his final resting place.
To anyone reading this, it probably sounds like it was a beautiful experience - I had the honor of being the last person to hold him, I am the only person who can share this with him. And I am grateful for that. But I have this terrible image in my mind, this sound in my head that I cannot get rid of...
I had a boyfriend a few years ago who worked at a cemetery. He would do cremations and sometimes call me to talk while he was doing them. I could hear the furnace blowing, the sound of the metals clanging together when he closed the oven door. I think of Grandpa and I hear those sounds. In my mind, I see him laying there naked, exposed, vulnerable, burning. I hear those sounds and my imagination runs wild - there is a horror movie playing in my mind's eye...
It was his wish to be cremated, though I'm unsure why. People being cremated has never bothered me in the past. But now that I see and hear these things in my mind, I can't stand that thought of it. It now makes everything seem more final. I didn't think that he would come back to life or anything like that, but now that there's not a body...
I'm at a loss. I don't know what else to say...
Any person reading this who knows me knows that my grandpa meant the absolute world to me. He was the one male in my life who treated me with respect no matter what I did, he was never mean to me, he loved me for the person I was and for the person that I wanted to become. When I was growing up, I was a terrible teen, which made living with my grandparents a chore for us all. I would stay out late without calling, I stole their vehicles, and I had parties when they were gone. Somehow they managed to still love me.
When Grandpa got sick and it was pretty much inevitable that he was going to die, I prayed that God would take me instead. I felt like I was the one who deserved to be taken from this earth because I was such a shitty kid. Grandpa didn't have a mean bone in his body - he respected everyone that he met, he loved his family and friends more than anything in the world - and he was sick and dying.
I lost my hero on August 10, right around 4 in the afternoon. Damian and I had just sat down to eat our dinner, Gambit was napping. Mom called. When I saw her name on the caller I.D. of my phone, I already knew. I answered and she said my name but it was shaky. I remember sitting there for a minute, not speaking, not crying... not really sure what I was supposed to do. I mean, I knew this day was coming at any moment... I was supposed to be prepared.
On the final day of showing at the funeral home, I decided to say a few words for Grandpa. Never in my life have I had to do something so hard. I carry around my speech with a picture of him and a prayer card in my wallet.
My sister and cousin spoke at the funeral - they read Bible verses. I was so proud of them for getting up there in front of everyone and honoring our grandpa.
Last weekend we buried his ashes at the cemetery. The weather was beautiful the whole week leading up to October 9, which is when we had the memorial. The week before was cold and gloomy - it makes me feel like Grandpa ordered the special weather for us. When it was time to put the box of ashes into the ground, I volunteered. I took the box from Grandma, kneeled on the ground and cried, then as carefully as I could, I placed my grandpa in his final resting place.
To anyone reading this, it probably sounds like it was a beautiful experience - I had the honor of being the last person to hold him, I am the only person who can share this with him. And I am grateful for that. But I have this terrible image in my mind, this sound in my head that I cannot get rid of...
I had a boyfriend a few years ago who worked at a cemetery. He would do cremations and sometimes call me to talk while he was doing them. I could hear the furnace blowing, the sound of the metals clanging together when he closed the oven door. I think of Grandpa and I hear those sounds. In my mind, I see him laying there naked, exposed, vulnerable, burning. I hear those sounds and my imagination runs wild - there is a horror movie playing in my mind's eye...
It was his wish to be cremated, though I'm unsure why. People being cremated has never bothered me in the past. But now that I see and hear these things in my mind, I can't stand that thought of it. It now makes everything seem more final. I didn't think that he would come back to life or anything like that, but now that there's not a body...
I'm at a loss. I don't know what else to say...
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