Everyone acts like death is a big deal. We all try to get as much of our own life as possible before we die, because we’re afraid of what we’ll lose when we die. But we remain incredibly selfish when it comes to death, we only think about our own deaths and what that will mean to ourselves. None of us ever really stop to think about those we love. What we lose when they die, or what they’ll lose when we die.

I would always see my aunt on holidays and big events, like a wedding or anniversary, so we remained somewhat close, about as close as most aunts and nephews are, yet as we walked into the funeral home I realized that I wasn’t sad. Not that I was happy, but I felt almost indifferent. Why am I not sad, I thought to myself. I think part of me just thought my aunt would show up to her own funeral to offer condolences and support, and that she would come say hi to my mom like she always does. But I had to keep reminding myself that she was no longer with us, that this was her funeral, that she couldn’t come say hi to my mom, that my mom would have to say goodbye to her without a goodbye back. Yet, for some reason I didn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t believe what I was telling myself, she isn’t dead yet, my subconscious would try to argue. I didn’t know it walking in, but the grief would hit me, and hit would hurt.

We entered the viewing room. It was blisteringly loud. No one was really talking, just whispering amongst themselves, yet the sadness of the room screamed at me. I still hadn’t believed my aunt was dead, but everyone else seemed to understand she was gone. I looked around the room and followed my parents as they greeted everyone and everyone gave them, my mom specifically, their condolences. When we reached my aunt’s husband he seemed his usual enthusiastic self, he was trying to crack a few jokes and lighten the mood. That’s when my I took the first punch that grief had decided to throw at me. He started to talk about what it was like without her. “I would yell, ‘Dorian!’, whenever I was looking for something, and then I’d go ‘Aw shit, that’s right.’” He tried his hardest to play it off as another joke, but through the feigned smile and puffy red eyes I saw what really happened when he looked for her. I sat there for a few seconds motionless, pondering his words, and soon my eyes started to resemble my uncle’s.

As the grief stricken day shifted on, I saw my grandfather sitting all alone in corner. BANG! The sight of him was the second hit, a bullet straight from the saddest of guns. He had his handkerchief out and was wiping away his tears. A man who had fought in a war, lost half of a foot to a lawnmower, and had refused to stop working even after he retired, was sitting there with the face of a child who had their favorite toy taken away. But this was so much worse. How can a child’s toy be compared to your daughter, his own flesh blood? I had never seen him like this before, so I walked over to him and sat down. He stopped crying and put his best fake smile when he saw me walking over. After seeing him like that I was struggling to hold back tears.

“How’s football going,” he asked with a weak smile.

“It’s going well,” I responded, trying to allow him to escape the immense sadness I knew he was feeling. “We’re undefeated.”

“That’s good. I think we’re gonna come out and watch you play on Friday.”

“Oh ok. Well that’s good. I don’t know if I’ll play that much though, we’re not playing a very good team so they’ll probably take me out before halftime.”

“Oh that’s fine, we just want to come watch you play. … Are you still planning on working with cars?”

“I don’t know, I’m not really sure what I want to do.”

“You should become an electrician, a lot better pay, and the works not as hard. You won’t get hurt as often either.”

“Yeah, I don’t know, it’s something I’ve thought about.” The small talk was a nice break, for both of us, it seemed. But then, …

“Do you see that girl over there that’s your grandmother’s sister’s daughter and her daughter. Look how big she is now. I think she’s almost nine now. God, they grow up so fast. Life’s too short.” When he said that we both started to tear up a little, but a brick wall was headed right for us and I didn’t realize it until we got knocked out by it. “It should have been me up there,” he said with a quiver in his voice. Then the fountains came, and I tried to stay strong for him, to let him know it was ok, but I didn’t know what to say and I was trying to hold back my own fountains. My grandmother came over just at the perfect time. She held my grandfather and she told him, that my aunt is in a better place now and that she is no longer in pain. I didn’t want to be rude, but I took that opportunity to go to my mom and let the fountains flow freely.

Earlier in the week I overheard my mom talking to my cousin about the funeral. My cousin had told my mom she wasn’t going to go because she had already found closure with her mother’s death and she didn’t need to be reminded of it. In her explanation she said to my mom, “Funerals are for the living.” As I stood there at the funeral, crying into my mom’s shoulder, that statement rung unbelievably true. Death is not felt by the dead, it’s impact on the living is what makes it such a big deal. While a person’s life being cut short is never a happy thing, the people who feel the loss most are those who had to see the life end. The parents who raised you and watched raise kids of your own, your husband who sat with you through thick and thin, the daughter who got to walk down the aisle with you on her wedding day, your only granddaughter, your nephews, and the siblings who grew up alongside you. They all felt your loss more than you probably felt your own death. Death may be the most selfless point in someone’s life, because of all the other people that it affects, but no one ever wants for that particular type of selflessness.