Singing the Pain Away (September 22, 2016)

I can’t do this. I can’t sing a song about my grandfather at his funeral. I want to, and I know it’s what I should do, but I can’t. What if I break down, what if I’m not good and Grandma Jane isn’t happy? My grandfather didn’t even like music that much. 

Mom pulls me aside.

It doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks, or whether grandpa would love every word of the song. Grandpa might of not loved music, but he loved you and he was constantly proud of you and your singing.

I’m gonna do it. No I can’t do it. 

Dad pulls me over. 

Do what you need, no one’s going to be upset if you don’t do it. This is for you and for grandpa, no one else. If you can’t do it, it’s alright, just do what you need.

I’m not gonna do it. I need fresh air. Auntie Rasheeda and Uncle Ray drove four hours from home to come support us. I’m not alone, someone is here. I can’t do it, I can do it. Will I do it? Grandpa lays there cold and still as ice. The casket holding him tight and refusing to let go. Beautiful pictures of his life are all around the long room. Pictures he painted are around the casket. The last time I talked to him was Christmas when he gave me my horseshoe necklace. Memories rush back and I can’t hold in the flood that’s about to come through my eyes.

What do you want to do?

The question of the day.

I look at Grandpa as the bitter-sweet song starts playing. I’m singing, but my mind is somewhere else. Christmas, birthdays, art lessons, random Tuesday’s. He was there. Now he’s not. I finish my last note and hug Jane. I crumble into my chair. A huge weight is lifted, but it doesn’t change the fact that he isn’t here to cheer me on. He’s gone and I’m here. Just singing the pain away.