When I learned about the death of my grandfather, I expected myself to burst out crying but I didn’t. I gave a small nod to my father and casually asked him about the funeral.
But I did felt my heart go heavier and it wasn’t long until all the lights in the house were closed and everything was quiet that I gave a quick sniff and tears started to fall. I didn’t cry because I could not accept the fact that he was gone. I mean, we were all aware of his condition and we learned to just be there for him until the very end. But when the end came, every moment I had with him flashes back all of a sudden. The way his eyes sparkle whenever he laughs. His slow strides as he goes out to feed the dogs. And that day when my dad and I, together with my brother, ditched this wedding to accompany him to go fishing. And when he once rode me on his bike on the way to school.
His death was the first time I experienced the loss of a loved one. I was not intending to cry on his burial but my cousin started crying and I just couldn’t help it. My cousin is a really big person and seeing him break down made me feel like it’s okay to cry when you’re sad. That no one is going to mind and everyone is kind enough to just pretend not to notice that you’re crying. The burial was filled with silent cries. No one wailed or passed out. Everyone was silently grieving and I think it’s really nice.
I had really awesome times with him and I’m just glad that he died a happy man.