On Death

At age thirteen, I continue to attend middle school. The death of my grandmother, my mother’s mother, rocks my family. I attend my first funeral. I get into a great deal of trouble with a boy from school.

Upon the news of my grandmother’s death, I found that I could not cry. Even at the funeral, I had dry eyes. For as long as I can remember, I have thought that those who die are the lucky ones, because they get to go home. I feel sad that I won’t see them on this earth anymore, because I will miss them, but I feel happy for them, too. Their souls return to God, and it is this thought that makes me feel a great peace.

At Grandma’s funeral, I was amazed that my father even attended. Why did they let him come at all? Maybe my mother, in her grief at losing her own mother, could not bring herself to deal with him. So, she ended up having to deal with him at the funeral, which he defiled. He sat right next to her and tried to grab her hand, which she snatched away. The angry look on her face, even through her tears, is something that I will always remember.

Having recently dealt with my own mother’s death, I am hyperaware of how this must have affected her at her mother’s funeral. Thankfully, I had no such madness to deal with at my mother’s memorial. I could remember my mom to the people in her life that most loved her, free of anyone to defile that experience, thank God.

My father should have been removed from our lives many times over, but I didn’t have the courage to stand up to him. I felt like I was alone on all sides. That’s what abusers do best: isolate the ones they abuse. They cut them off from those that would stand by them so they feel completely alone. If you’re as sick as your secrets, then I was terminally ill.

The term was one of my own making, but I didn’t know this at the time. By the time that I reported him, I was in a safe place for many months. I was surrounded by supportive and genuinely good people who had only my best interests at heart. They reassured me at every turn that what I was doing was right for me. If I didn’t know what exactly was that was, they showed me my options and let me choose for myself.

That’s what really good teachers do. They show you your choices and help you to make the best decision for yourself. They show you your strengths, and help you to make your weaknesses into stronger abilities. That’s what the people who helped me the most in my teens did for me. For that, I am truly grateful.