Losing a Loved One

~The End~

It was Wednesday morning. The day of my pop's funeral. My Uncle Laurie and Auntie Rita had slept over the night before. My mum had woken us up early as everyone would be coming over for a while before going to the church and then the cemetery.

We were all running around getting ready and going into Nanna's house every so often, just to make sure she was okay. She was sitting on the couch with her head down and crying. She was all dressed in black as that is what the Maltese do when their spouse dies.

We were still getting ready when the doorbell rang and in walked my cousin Rita, her husband Joe and their children Darren and Hayley. Rita was crying in long, loud sobs and her body was shaking. Her children walked in behind her and didn't shed a tear. Pretty soon all the relatives were there. Some came in crying while others were on the verge of tears. Some tried to be strong while others just cried releasing their emotions.

About 9:00 we all decided to leave for church. As I walked into the church I felt a shiver run up my spine. I saw the long brown coffin where my pop lay. I couldn't imagine him dead. His wrinkled face was always so vibrant and full of life. He was always happy and smiling, singing his songs. He used to sing old Maltese folk songs, although I could never make out the words or the tune to any of them. I can still hear him signing them in my head.

I found my seat and sat down. I looked in front of me and saw my mum, three uncles and Nanna all crying, softly trying to comfort each other. Although it clearly wasn't working as they were never going to see their father or husband again. Pretty soon I too was crying. I felt my dad's strong, warm, comforting arm around my shoulders and I felt myself turning into him and crying long and hard. When I finished crying a patch of my dad's navy blue tie was wet. After mass we followed the hearse and mourning car to the cemetery.

I was in a car with my two sisters, my cousin Dave and his wife Samantha. Dave used his sense of humour to cheer us up and it worked. He kept calling us the three stooges. He also abused a woman behind us because she had over taken another car that was following us to the cemetery. Of course he never physically got out of the car but when she moved to the next lane he pretended he was also going to the next lane and this had us all in fits of laughter until we arrived at the cemetery.

As we walked into the cemetery I was looking at the other tombstones and wondered whether these families had felt the same pain as my family and I was at this time.

When we arrived at the grave I thought to myself 'this is the beginning of the end' and as they lowered my pop into his final resting-place, I realized that I was never going to see my Pop again.

- Angela Johns

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