Funeral Poem
Capri Cabelli Funerals traumatize me. I can’t do them. I can’t walk in the room With my family members And mourn someone I love. After my grandpa’s death, I can’t do funerals. He was my person, my favorite person. He loved me more than anyone I’ve ever known. We spoke in French all the time. “Bonjour mademoiselle!” I miss his pancakes. Even though they started to taste worse as he got older, We pretended not to notice. Losing him in the supermarket, watching Impractical Jokers, eating hot sauce, or falling asleep with him. It was Christmas Day when I found out. My bubbe’s birthday was Christmas Eve. I locked myself in my room, Bawling for hours on end. The funeral began. The rabbi began to speak, And I lost any composure I previously had. Crying the entire time, I continued for the entire service as everyone stared at me. I tried to catch my breath. I tried to stop crying. I tried to pull myself together. But I couldn’t. My grandpa’s funeral broke me. It was the worst day of my life. Funerals traumatize me. I can’t do them. Addendum: My grandpa died two years ago and I haven’t been able to go to a funeral since he died. I thought I’d write about it because I have to attend a funeral soon and I’m hoping that I’ll be able to pull myself together for it. |