Personal Narrative: My Grandma's Funeral

Walking into the cemetery, I noticed that the night shined brighter than the day and the music was more alive than ever. I could hear the song, “Puno de Tierra” by Ramon Ayala, playing in the background and there were many families gathered around the graves of their loved ones. I could smell the fresh copal burning into the air and I noticed that my uncles tumba (tomb) looked cleaner than any other day. His grave was decorated with marigolds, candy skulls, pan de muertos, and white candles along with a few of his favorite foods and a portrait of him placed in the middle for everyone to see. Then, I suddenly open my eyes to see myself sitting down on a sofa from our living room, and in the background I heard my grandmother continuously repeating

“I swear, I don’t know. I’ll tell you everything she told me, but she didn’t tell me where she was going.”

“Who’s they?” he wanted to know. “Who, specifically, do you think is trying to murder you?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen a number of their graves in the cemetery.” I admitted as I looked up at the crow that was now back circling in the sky above us. “I guess a lot of kids have died around here, huh? But, you can’t blame that on a girl who lived close to three hundred years ago. Places got hit by diseases all the time back then, dysentery, cholera, measles, mumps, small pox, bad water, stuff like that. Things back then weren’t like they are today.”

        “If that was her, then that means she must have known who you were the whole time,” Delta says.

During the current Easter break, I ventured to Denver, Colorado with two others. The day after our arrival, I broke away from the group for a short period of time to visit Riverside Cemetery. Peering through the cemetery’s aligned headstones as if they were rows of filled bookshelves, my pupils skimmed from one headstone to the next, searching for an appealing name to take home to investigate like it was a book to check out from the library.

        “Like you aren’t already keeping secrets from the others,” Willa sneers. “You and your family. Are you going to tell the others?”

The walk to the headstone was short. Georgaina could easily see the house from where she stood, but she herself would be obstructed from the view of anyone trying to see into the thick woods that surrounded the grave. She sighed, kneeling before the stone made of blue glass. It had been an expense she and her father really couldn’t afford, but it had been worth it.

I walked towards the Bleeding Heart Cemetery. The cool October wind blew against my frame, making me wish I wore a coat. I readjusted my grip on my oxygen tank. As I neared Augustus’ grave, the sun light captured the diamond ring Isaac gave me. My stomach flopped upside down. Although the wedding is in 2 weeks, I still felt unsure. I mean, who in their right minds marries their dead boyfriend’s best friend? I slipped the ring into my jean pocket. I located Augustus’ grave and sat down. I felt my stomach churn, realizing I haven’t visited him in months.

The day was gloomy and a bit chilly−a perfect day for a funeral if that was possible−as she sat on the folding chair staring at the bronze casket a few feet from her. Ruth recalled while growing up her grandfather always treated her special and they shared many good times. A tear rolled down her cheek, but she wanted to smile knowing shortly her grandfather would be laid to rest beside the love of his life, her grandmother. Since his heart attack she had visited him daily at the Mountaineer Nursing Home. He told her stories about the ghost on Putney Mountain, the loud screams in the day and the lights at night. Sometimes he talked about the secrets of Howardsville and promised one day he would divulge them to her. However, he passed away before

“You don’t have to talk. That pale face and haunted look tells me everything I need to know. It’s Joan, isn’t it?”

“You remember that what else do you remember, and no I don't know where your mom is sorry.”

“Kaylie, you are not allowed to know just yet, as a precaution. Do you happen to have any other questions?”

While waiting for Katherine Lincoln’s service to begin, Margaret entered the sanctuary and looked at the number of plants and colorful bouquets. Looking for the ones her daughter sent, Knowing since Stephanie failed to attend the service. She would do something outstanding to overshadow everyone else’s contribution. Finally, Margaret noticed a large, beautiful bouquet of pink roses, with white baby’s breath, and went over to them. She whispered “I’m sure this is the one Stephanie sent. She wants to show off, but

Currently, she was at the local cemetery, where all around, freshly fallen snow twinkled and glistened on the once green ground. The pale gray pathway had been shoveled, however, so that people could get around the cemetery easily. Mrs. Ferguson was listening attentively to the pastor, who was describing Mr. Ferguson’s life. Only Mr. Ferguson’s close family had been invited to attend the funeral, so they all knew every detail of his life, but it was common practice to read it all anyways.