I don’t find funerals that sad.
Sitting in churches or funeral homes listening to priests talk about death and heaven just doesn’t make me very sad. I’ve always felt deeply ashamed of myself sitting there while everyone cries and not feeling anything. What kind of cold heartless person doesn’t cry at funerals?
I grew up on a heritage farm on the outskirts of Ottawa and my grandparents lived in the house adjacent to mine. When I was in high school, my grandfather started to develop dementia and was moved from our farm into a nursing home.
When my family found out which nursing home he would be admitted to, I went with my dad and aunt for a tour. The entire tour I was fighting back tears. Every time someone talked to me, I would try to compose myself and spit out a short answer without crying.
I succeeded suppressing my crying for the remainder of the tour but on the way home I sat in the backseat of the car and cried silently behind my sunglasses.
I went unnoticed for about fifteen minutes until my aunt asked me a question and I just started sobbing.
Two years later, my grandfather died, and I couldn’t summon a single tear. I wrote a speech about the impact my grandfather had on my life and read it at the funeral. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room except my own.
My dad said that I was his rock for being so composed throughout the service but all I could think was that I must have a heart made of stone.
Sitting in churches or funeral homes listening to priests talk about death and heaven just doesn’t make me very sad. I’ve always felt deeply ashamed of myself sitting there while everyone cries and not feeling anything. What kind of cold heartless person doesn’t cry at funerals?
I grew up on a heritage farm on the outskirts of Ottawa and my grandparents lived in the house adjacent to mine. When I was in high school, my grandfather started to develop dementia and was moved from our farm into a nursing home.
When my family found out which nursing home he would be admitted to, I went with my dad and aunt for a tour. The entire tour I was fighting back tears. Every time someone talked to me, I would try to compose myself and spit out a short answer without crying.
I succeeded suppressing my crying for the remainder of the tour but on the way home I sat in the backseat of the car and cried silently behind my sunglasses.
I went unnoticed for about fifteen minutes until my aunt asked me a question and I just started sobbing.
Two years later, my grandfather died, and I couldn’t summon a single tear. I wrote a speech about the impact my grandfather had on my life and read it at the funeral. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room except my own.
My dad said that I was his rock for being so composed throughout the service but all I could think was that I must have a heart made of stone.
When I was in grade 12, my uncle Ed was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. He was only in his 50s and the diagnosis was devastating to my family.
The summer after he was diagnosed, his daughter was planning to get married. Before the wedding he had had brain surgery which left him with a row of big stitches on the side of his head.
The wedding was bittersweet, and Ed’s scar was a solemn reminder that the wedding may be his last family event.
The father daughter dance was beautiful but insufferable.
For some reason I had left the table just before it started and when it began, I was separated from my family. I remember being in a crowd of mostly strangers watching my cousin dance with her dad and his scar.
I remember crying so hard I wanted to die but looking back, I may not have even been crying at all. All I remember is that I couldn’t make the tears couldn’t come fast enough and I just wanted to lay on the floor and scream.
When the funeral came, I sat there awkwardly trying to squeeze out a few tears while everyone else cried and mourned like regular people.
The summer after he was diagnosed, his daughter was planning to get married. Before the wedding he had had brain surgery which left him with a row of big stitches on the side of his head.
The wedding was bittersweet, and Ed’s scar was a solemn reminder that the wedding may be his last family event.
The father daughter dance was beautiful but insufferable.
For some reason I had left the table just before it started and when it began, I was separated from my family. I remember being in a crowd of mostly strangers watching my cousin dance with her dad and his scar.
I remember crying so hard I wanted to die but looking back, I may not have even been crying at all. All I remember is that I couldn’t make the tears couldn’t come fast enough and I just wanted to lay on the floor and scream.
When the funeral came, I sat there awkwardly trying to squeeze out a few tears while everyone else cried and mourned like regular people.
I have always felt deeply ashamed of not always crying at funerals. Sometimes I cry, but most of the time I don’t.
It’s important to recognize that everyone grieves in different ways at their own pace.
My lack of crying doesn’t mean that I didn’t love my grandpa or my uncle, I just don’t grieve in the same way as everyone else.
Looking back, I think I said goodbye to my family members when they were still alive.
For me, my grandpa died when he left the farm. He had worked on our farm his entire life and it was a big part of him. When he moved into the nursing home, he was never the same person I remembered.
My uncle Ed was always the jokester in our family and never failed to keep us entertained at family events. His presence at my cousin’s wedding was one of the last times I saw him being himself before he started getting really sick and wean away.
Everyone experiences grief differently and that’s okay. You don’t have to feel ashamed of yourself for not feeling the things you think you’re supposed to be feeling and it is important not to judge other people who may be grieving in different ways than you.
It’s important to recognize that everyone grieves in different ways at their own pace.
My lack of crying doesn’t mean that I didn’t love my grandpa or my uncle, I just don’t grieve in the same way as everyone else.
Looking back, I think I said goodbye to my family members when they were still alive.
For me, my grandpa died when he left the farm. He had worked on our farm his entire life and it was a big part of him. When he moved into the nursing home, he was never the same person I remembered.
My uncle Ed was always the jokester in our family and never failed to keep us entertained at family events. His presence at my cousin’s wedding was one of the last times I saw him being himself before he started getting really sick and wean away.
Everyone experiences grief differently and that’s okay. You don’t have to feel ashamed of yourself for not feeling the things you think you’re supposed to be feeling and it is important not to judge other people who may be grieving in different ways than you.