i'm going to a funeral tomorrow

on grieving as an eldest daughter

It’s been a week since my grandfather died and I still haven’t cried. Before last February, when my childhood dog passed away, death was just a concept to me, it felt so distant.

The past week has been somewhat of a blur to me. I moved back to D.C. and within 36 hours, I got the call that my grandfather passed away. There aren’t words to describe that, it’s like time stops for a second and you’re left to absorb the full effect of the words: “Your grandfather passed.”

I’m writing this on the night train from D.C. to New Jersey. My sister, Julia, and I are going home for the funeral. I haven’t seen her since we separately returned to D.C., and now we’re next to each other, me writing this, her working on some long reading for class, the unspoken reason for our travel sitting between us on this dimly lit train.

My grandfather’s passing wasn’t a surprise to me, he had been sick for a while, and I mentally prepared for it as best as I could, but I expected to cry. Why haven’t I cried? I know that grief manifests itself in different forms, but something about mine feels wrong. Julia and I both feel unspeakably sad for our family, each other, and for the circumstances bringing us all together, but the tears haven’t come.

When Max died in February, I felt that grief so deep in my bones, I still feel it today. I knew losing my first childhood pet would be tough, but I didn’t imagine how painful it would be. I held him in my lap and I said goodbye to him. I was with him almost until the end, I couldn’t be in the room when it happened, but I have never cried harder than I did in that moment when the realization of what was happening sank in. It’s devastating, to spend a moment with someone and know it’s the last.