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Description
Green.  Her favorite color was green.  Everyone who came to the funeral wearing black didn't know her.  She hated black, but she loved green.  I looked around.  The church was almost filled.  Family I know, family I've never met, family I didn't want to meet, people who knew her, people who knew her husband, and a few military guys.  But they didn't know her.  Not like we did.

I tried to listen to the mass, but I couldn't.  The Coffin was right next to me and I wanted to do nothing more than to open it up and cry my eyes out.  I wanted to see her one last time, I wanted to feel her feather-soft skin.  But I couldn't, so I settled for crying my eyes out.  The incense they placed around the coffin made me nauseous, but with most other things recently I ignored that to.  I was doing the second reading today.  Apparently my aunts and uncles thought it would be a good idea for me, who doesn't believe in the Catholic Church, to do a reading for my very religious, very loved grandmother.  So I did.  I walked up there in my three and a half inch heels and read it.  My voice was even, and I refused to make the sign of the cross of praise the lord.  I bet that shocked them.

Overall, she would've loved it.  The mass was done in mostly Spanish just for her.  We all placed a rose on her coffin, my four year-old cousin not understanding any of it.  That's what got me.  It made me remember my grandfather's funeral.  It was bigger, more elaborate than my grandma's.  He was in WWII and honored for it.  I was only four then.  It was the day before my dad's birthday.  Imagine that, burying your father the day before your birthday.  I didn't get what it meant when my uncle showed me the bottle of whiskey and the handfull of coins my grandfather had tucked away in his hands.  Now I get it.  My grandfather was Irish.  He drank whiskey like water, but wasn't a drunk, and the coins were so he could buy his way into heaven...a joke.  I watched them lower my grandmother into the ground, only it wasn't her.  I knew I was never going back to see her grave.  She wasn't there anymore.  It was nothing but a small memorial for her big life.

Description
Green.  Her favorite color was green.  Everyone who came to the funeral wearing black didn't know her.  She hated black, but she loved green.  I looked around.  The church was almost filled.  Family I know, family I've never met, family I didn't want to meet, people who knew her, people who knew her husband, and a few military guys.  But they didn't know her.  Not like we did.

I tried to listen to the mass, but I couldn't.  The Coffin was right next to me and I wanted to do nothing more than to open it up and cry my eyes out.  I wanted to see her one last time, I wanted to feel her feather-soft skin.  But I couldn't, so I settled for crying my eyes out.  The incense they placed around the coffin made me nauseous, but with most other things recently I ignored that to.  I was doing the second reading today.  Apparently my aunts and uncles thought it would be a good idea for me, who doesn't believe in the Catholic Church, to do a reading for my very religious, very loved grandmother.  So I did.  I walked up there in my three and a half inch heels and read it.  My voice was even, and I refused to make the sign of the cross of praise the lord.  I bet that shocked them.

Overall, she would've loved it.  The mass was done in mostly Spanish just for her.  We all placed a rose on her coffin, my four year-old cousin not understanding any of it.  That's what got me.  It made me remember my grandfather's funeral.  It was bigger, more elaborate than my grandma's.  He was in WWII and honored for it.  I was only four then.  It was the day before my dad's birthday.  Imagine that, burying your father the day before your birthday.  I didn't get what it meant when my uncle showed me the bottle of whiskey and the handfull of coins my grandfather had tucked away in his hands.  Now I get it.  My grandfather was Irish.  He drank whiskey like water, but wasn't a drunk, and the coins were so he could buy his way into heaven...a joke.  I watched them lower my grandmother into the ground, only it wasn't her.  I knew I was never going back to see her grave.  She wasn't there anymore.  It was nothing but a small memorial for her big life.