by Jennifer Arnold

Created on: June 04, 2008   Last Updated: June 07, 2008

The room was dimly lit and filled with people who were visibly sad. Some of them were crying while others just dabbed their eyes with a tissue. My father wrapped his strong arm around my mother's shoulder and pulled her close to him. His face was clean shaven, brave and he looked forward listening to the man speaking at the altar. My mother leaned into him for support and it was clear that if he stood up or moved without warning she would come crashing to the ground. I sat next to my twin sister barely able to see over the pew seat back in front of me. The wooden pew bench was hard and my legs felt restless. The dress I was wearing was becoming uncomfortably itchy and the shinny patent leather sandals had worked a small stinging blister into my right heal. It was becoming harder and harder to remain quiet as my parents had instructed or still and I found myself kicking at the bible and song books in the seat back holder in front of me. I looked up to see my father shaking his head and mouthing the word "No".

I had never seen the speaking man before. He was dressed in a black suit with a securely knotted neck tie. He spoke slowly and in a gentle discerning tone. He rarely referred to his notes and I wondered who he was and why he knew so much about my Grandma. I found it rather strange also that he was not facing our group as he spoke. He looked out over the shinny wooden rectangular box. I thought I could hear far away sniffles and an occasional outburst or cry but not from the family members that sat near me. I strained myself several time to see what the speaking man could be looking at or to whom he could he be talking to?

My family was not regular Sunday church attendees. In fact we never went at all. This was the first time that I had ever sat in a church before. Well at least what I had figured was a church, simply from the amount of times the suited speaking man referred to "God" and how many times he asked us to "Bow our heads and pray with him." Was this a typical church service? Why would people I don't know what to come to my Grandma's funeral? What exactly is a funeral and when are we going to get to see Grandma? Questions like these filled my mind as I struggled to grasp what was going on around me.

Then the speaking man stopped talking about things that my Grandmother had done, liked or had said and invited anyone who wanted to come up and pay their last respects to do so now. He walked around to the front of the wooden box and open only one half

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