For support of the bereaved
Damn. I just found out this morning at around 11:07 that my grandmother, Mrs. Jean Goeglein, has died. With her condition, my family and I knew that it was a fight she was bound to lose and simply a matter of when. None of us could fathom that it would be this soon, however, and my sister and I were first to hear the news when my aunt and uncle arrived to deliver it. I actually heard it twice, since I could hear them first from the door, then my uncle came and told me directly. Nonetheless, it hit us like the proverbial ton-of-bricks; my sister was in shock for a minute, then started crying. My dad could not believe it; bordering on dumbfounded, but shedding tears, nonetheless. But I… I still had the composure and presence of mind to be able to ask what we were having for breakfast. Why is my grief so much less profound than theirs? I mean, everyone grieves in their own way, but I didn't seem reverent or sincere at all. What does that say about me? Am I doomed to appear this cold and collected? Or, is it instead a gift; the ability to remain a pillar of strength in times of trouble? I have no way of knowing which it is; my present environment and attitude would certainly dictate, but it's as much a riddle as my artistic ability. /sigh Oh, well. I guess it's up to me how I feel or appear in times of grief; what a relief. In any case, I still have another funeral to go to - this one, however, I feel obligated to attend, as it is a family matter. At least I'll know more of the people there than at Mark Porter's (dad's friend) funeral.