The young girl sat there on the church like bench looking about at the mournful people surrounding her. She knew why all the people were crying, and sad but she couldn't cry. The young girl's eyes jumped from one person to another, as she looked at all the different people and their shapes, size, and mournful looks on their faces. That young girl, confused with sadness, was me.
             I was 8 years old at the time at my grandma's funeral. We were in a sandy brick building. The smell was stiff and frozen, but you could still smell the outdoors. I was only 3 when my grandma had a stroke and couldn't talk after. I never knew my grandma that well but people always tell me how wonderful she was. She was beautiful, caring, always laughing and happy. I never really knew her though. I know what she looked like with her wig and pale skin in her wheel chair. I even remember her smell of the old lady perfume but I still loved the smell.
             It was a sunny day, but at the same time dreary. My grandma died on February 6. That is same day as my dad's birthday. My family woke up that morning ready to celebrate my dad's birthday, but then we got the call that my grandma had died. I watched, as my mom was stricken with tears. The next day we drove to Indiana to go to the funeral.
             It was interesting just watching the people crying. My family, and relatives were just so gloomy. I felt and still feel terrible that I couldn't even cry for my own grandma. To watch the people who were closest around her feel so horrible. I just wish I'd been lucky enough to know her as others do.
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