I was a pallbearer this time around, and it definitely wasn't an easy thing to do. She looked different today... but it was easier this time around. Funeral processions are a strange thing. It's so heartwrenching to acknowledge that the personality and consciousness is gone from us, but then we go ahead and force ourselves to stare at the person's body. It's as though we wont believe it or understand it without the extremely disturbing visual. It's an extremely bizarre ritual.
I always feel heartless at funerals, because I shut down to point and I don't allow myself to cry if I can avoid it. I rarely hug people, because that makes it harder for me to play stoic. I hugged my family, but sparingly.
The eulogy was hard. Before I went up I told myself not to look at my Dad because he would make me cry. So, of course, the first thing I do is look at him and I start off shakey. I got it back, but I lost it at the end. It's a hard thing to really, seriously, talk through tears. The face does strange things.
I think in the end, our family is closer now though - which is decidedly ironic. My grandma was really the only social link for us, and now we've all pledged to get together more often. It's a pity that changes such as these are often the result of a death or other trauma. I guess we're all too stubborn.
After the funeral though we had a snowball fight in the parking lot. I really love my family, that even after a terrible loss, we can all run outside and act like children. Lobbing snowballs out of our cars while running around in our sunday best - suits, dresses, to boot. Irish hearts, I tell you what.