Ashes to ashes.

It's weird when someone so close to you dies. You know how to feel. You feel hurt, you feel guilty, you feel diseased. There's so much pain and it's hard to release. So you cry. Or you don't cry. You write things down or you just close up. But no matter what you do...you will never get over the feeling of how ordinary death is. It happens every day.

So my grandpa died. I wasn't close to him. I haven't cried. I haven't torn open my life to find a deeper meaning. But we shared blood? There was the potential of this hurting. Of this being one of the hardest days of my life...but it isn't. My mom has been crying a lot. It's only been a day and that seems like all she knows how to do...is cry. She is so guilty. And this, I know, will eat at her forever.

Me and my sister were asked to speak. Read a passage from the bible. It's not close enough to us to hurt, but he was our grandpa, and we owe him something. I mean I do hurt...for my mom. For my Uncle. For my grandma who was so mistreated by him. My mother who would never have the dad she'd longed for. So this IS close to me. I guess this DOES hurt? I don't know the man...but everyone deserves to be treated like they matter. Because doesn't everyone matter?

I would hate to be burned alive. I'm thinking to myself-what were his thoughts? Did he pass out before or after the fire touched his old skin...was he scared? Was he unconcious? I feel for this person who I did not know...but I feel like that's okay because as I upturn my wrist I realize that his blood runs through my veins...and he was a person who lived...but not a good life. People are questioning whether or not to attend his funeral and THAT hurts me. He was a human being. And I hope no one questions whether or not to say goodbye to me. I hope that my life means something. And I really do hope people come around...

Ashes to ashes...
Dust to dust...