I was furniture in the room. I wasn’t part of the emotional aura that my family shared. My mother, sister, aunt, all shedding the same raw tears. My mom reached over and pulled out three tissues, one for each of them. Three. I, of course, wasn’t in need of one because I hadn’t been crying, I showed no expression on my face. Cynical about death, I had trouble crying for my grandmother. I hated seeing her body suffer, but knew that her mind was somewhere else. Probably sitting there thinking, dreaming, about not being on this earth anymore. Not being forced to withstand the weathering to a soul that the world causes. Now my grandfather, he made me hurt. Knowing the kind of pain he’d go through following her inevitable passing made me feel something. Such a strong pity. Heartbreak: that’s the truest kind of pain. It’s greater than any physical pain a human could feel. It’s the kind of pain that makes a person wish they could die.