My grandfather died last month. I really thought I could take this better, considering the amount of funerals I've been to before. Nothing prepared me for seeing my father, the youngest of six siblings, cry while saying the eulogy speech. Three days. That's how long the ceremony was. I put a flower in his casket, a vibrant yellow rose. He didn't look like himself. They never do, but I really could see it now. Every single member of my family was crying every day except me, and that hurt me so fucking much - my older cousins, who I've looked up to my while life, were broken down for the first time with me watching. My grandmother was hugging me, sobbing into my shoulder at one point, and all I could do was hold her tightly and put any remaining willpower I had into not crying a long with her while my younger sisters watched. Just the previous week, he'd stood up to hug us after being bedridden for months. Gave us a final smile. That final "I love you." I miss him. So much now.