Mathlete to Beauty Queen

I THOROUGHLY DISLIKE

           

CHAPTER 1: I Thoroughly Dislike

  I hate funerals.

  No. Not hate. I promised myself that I'd stop using ha-that word, so let me rephrase. I thoroughly dislike funerals.

  To be completely honest, I only decided this just now.

  Before today, the only funeral that I'd ever attended was for my dog. . .I was only five. I remember my parents telling me that it was a way to honor her life, a way to say goodbye. Until today, that was my only view on funerals. A beautiful way to say goodbye to your lost loved ones. Maybe to some people, they still are, but not to me. Not anymore.

My Grandma assures me that over time, it gets easier. I suppose that I should believe her, she has lost a lot of family after all. I remember when I was little, she was always so happy. Her parents had died long before I was born, but she used to tell me stories about them all the time. It was like she had made peace with it. That all changed when her husband, my Grandpa, died of a stroke when I was seven. I didn't go to the funeral. 

   Skip to today and she is the last of her eight siblings, and of her childhood friends. In the past ten years, she has been to 12 funerals. Today however, that number jumps to 13.

Now back to my reasons for hating funerals. In my recently developed opinion, funerals are a sick, and cruel joke.

You're forced to stand in a cemetery, surrounded by the dead, all the while trying to focus on the life of the one you've lost.  How does that make any sense?

As far as my strike on the word hate, I decided this three days ago. It has always been a word that I have thrown around so carelessly. I hate this book, I hate my hair. . . I hate you. It was rare that I ever meant it when I said it, but I still staid it all the same. Anyhow, she always told me that I should think before I just blurt it out, because one day, that could be the last thing that someone hears me say. I hate you.

I can feel the soft touch of my Aunt Marie's hand on my shoulder. I don't have to look at her to know what she needs to tell me. It's my turn to do what I never thought I'd have to.

It's my turn to say goodbye.

Without facing her, I nod my head and wipe my cheeks. As I walk towards the casket my one goal is to avoid eye contact with anyone and everyone. I know that if I look at them, all of my self-control will fade away and I'll be left with nothing but tears. They all expect me to do this. She expected me to do this, to give her a eulogy, but I don't know if I can.

When I finally make it to the head of the casket my eyes begin to water uncontrollably. There goes that self-control.

   I can't bring myself to look down at her body. Deep down, I feel like I should, because this is my last chance to see her again, but I feel like she wouldn't want me, or anyone, to see her this way. She was so amazingly beautiful, and I don't want to remember her like this.

  So here I stand. My eyes averted to the cloudy sky desperately trying to avoid staring down at my sister. My dead sister. 

   For a brief moment I turn my head to the small crowd of people behind me, searching some reassurance from my parents. My mom gives me a small smile before looking back at the ground as If it is the most interesting thing on the planet. Somehow I know that from now on, that's all our relationship will be. The occasional smile and nothing more.  I look to my Dad, only to be greeted by a cold stare. We have never been close, but it still hurts to see his hatred towards me. Maybe I deserve it.