Funeral Essay

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Cathy Powell Mrs. adams 2nd Period My Cousin’s Funeral Sniff Sniff that’s all you hear. One of the funeral organizers was lining us up to enter the enormous coffee brown and creamy white building. Clack’ Clink ‘Clink’ clack…the noise of people shoes as they scrapped the ground moving closer and closer to the door. In my mind I knew that I was at this certain location before. Then it hit me.My aunt Gin had recently died and this is the place they held her funeral. “Please be seated” pastor Henderson said. “Today we are gathered here to celebrate the home going of our family member Mr. Aaron Mays. “Right there at that moment I realized that life is too short and that you should cherish it.Usually people are supposed to cry at funerals right? Well think again. There is this man and his name is Johnny. He is African American, about 6’4, and has a scar on his right cheek. I call him my granddad. My granddad is not a very big fan on emotions. The only emotion he shows is anger .This guy NEVR CRYS. But on this fine sunny morning it changed my life. It was a quarter to ten and it was now the time for the viewing of the body. Row by row we went. After the view of the body, before you take your seat, its polite to shake hands or hug the people on the first row and the two people on the ends of the second row. These are the closet to the deceased. Our row is now up to go. Breathe in>>> breathe out. Once more breathe in>> and breathe out. Trying to hold back tears can be quite hard. And there he was. His hands all folded, all dressed up in his tuxedo. I couldn’t help but to let it all out like a big 2 year old baby. “I’m so sorry for your lost.” I said to his mother and sister. As I walked back to my seat I paid a visit to my granddad. “Are you ok” I said “yes darling I’m fine” he replied back. The dazzling looks on his face lead me in surprise. My granddad, Johnny C.

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