Rosa Haleva

And We All Fall Down

Jun 19, 2020 3 years ago

It was a cold day. I remember the numbing wind making my eyes squint while my ears turned red. Perhaps it was the chill of death, but all I could think about was how unnaturally cold it was. He died the night before, my grandfather. The service was normal, in a word. One wouldn't expect death to feel normal, but in a lot of ways it did. He was ninety-nine, so the passing wasn't a complete shock, at least for me it wasn't. I'm not sure to this day exactly how I felt about it. He was in a lot of pain, and so relief is a word I like to use. Sadness, sure, but the devastation that they felt, it just wasn't quite there for me. I was never particularly close to my Grandpa Eddie, but like the bone-chilling wind that morning, you could count on him to be there year after year. Once he wasn't, something felt out of place. That's what it was for me, a disappearing act. He was there one minute, and poof, I could never see him again. That isn't what it was like for the rest of them. “Why are they so late?,” my mother was nervous. They hadn't arrived with the body yet and people were shifting in the stands, unsure of what to do with themselves. She had gotten to the hospital just minutes after he died. I think that is always going to haunt her, not getting to say goodbye one last time. She seemed her usual anxious self at the funeral, always funneling her emotions into quick neurotic slurs. It wasn't until later that I saw her distress. They say some people suffer from denial, and can't accept the reality just yet. I thought maybe this explained my reaction to the ordeal, but that didn't prove to be the case. I was okay with his death, but what really shook me was how not-okay they were. Once everything was ready the speeches began. One of my cousins tried to get his sentiments out, but choked on the words. When he began to cry, the entire family followed. The room filled with a chorus of sobs from everyone close to me. When I heard a sudden gasp for air and sounds of distress I looked around to find the source. It took me a minute to realize, I guess I was crying too. My mother wasn't supposed to speak. Some types of Jewish think it inappropriate for a woman to speak at a funeral. My immediate family does not agree with this, but my mother's side does. We didn't want to step on anyone's toes, so she spoke from the doorway, the best loophole we could find. My mother has this way of smiling when she's sad, as if to try and convince herself that what's troubling her isn't so terrible. I worried for her, but my focus soon turned to my grandmother. They were twenty-seven years apart, my grandparents, and were not exactly the picture-perfect couple. Their relationship had been bitter for years. My grandmother even wished him dead every so often, as I recall. But once he got sick, she was by his side until the end. I think we were all surprised by my grandmother's reaction to his death. Her eyes, once full of life and happiness, were now vacant and heavy. She didn't try to laugh about the good times, like the rest did. She simply sat there staring into nothing, with a constant look of worry about her. She frightened me the most, my grandmother. She seemed an empty shell of the person she was, her eyes constantly searching for answers. I didn't know how to help her, or any of them. It felt as though I was a bystander to a car accident. I watched the wreckage unfold, but it didn't feel like I was a part of it. I felt distanced from the people I've known my whole life, like a perfect stranger just passing through. The children played as though nothing was wrong, to them nothing was. I looked at them and envied their innocence. It occurred to me that they were going to grow up without our grandfather. That struck me as odd. “Rosa, can you help?” They needed someone to replenish the food supply. I went shopping with my older sister, who I don't particularly care for. For those few hours I forgot the circumstances that surrounded this day. Only upon our return was I hit by the wave of realization, something is not right here. As the visitors shuffled out my mother conversed with her siblings. They consoled each other, and took turns searching for the light that went out in my grandmother. When night fell it was cold again, but nothing compared to the chill of that morning.

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