My eyes are routed to that fancy, wooden box. The way the light reflects off it and the way that the brass handles shine. The angle's all wrong for me to check the engraving on the metal plate but I make a point of reminding myself to see it before…. well, you know. Grandma had a thing about her name being spelt right.
Movement catches my eye and I see Tin-Tin take Alan's hand. He's really upset and I can understand that. This is the first person close to him that he's ever said goodbye to.
I know that's the way it feels for me.
I watch Scott deliver the reading; one of Grandma's favourite Psalms. How does he do it? Stay so composed? His voice never wavers; his timing is perfect and consistent; long enough for the congregation to really think about each verse.
Long enough for me to be reminded of the quiet strength our family has lost.
I kind of envy his control as I feel the hot tears roll unabated down my cheeks. My eyes return to her casket and for a moment, I think selfishly of the possibility that a few years ago it could've been me.
Funerals really challenge your beliefs, you know. I'm easy going enough; my approach to religion has always been straight forward. Believe what you want to believe. But then I've never really thought about what I do actually believe.
As Scott finishes the last line of that Psalm, I know that I really want to believe that wherever my Grandma is, she's 'dwelling forever.'
God, I'm going to miss her.