Well, this past Wednesday marked the end of an era. My maternal grandmother, known primarily to us grandkids as simply, "lola," was buried. It was a very long twelve days for me, and I wasn't nearly as close to her as some of my cousins. I don't tend to cry at funerals, don't ask me why, it probably seems fairly cold and callous for me to not be at least weepy when everyone else around me is wailing, red-nosed and sobbing. Even when my dad passed away, 14 years ago, I didn't really break down until at least two weeks later.
It's not so much that the person is gone, really. I think when I do cry, it's out of a sense of selfish loss. Funerals mark the ends of things - times, places, feelings of security/insecurity. I rarely miss the person in question. Most likely I have yet to lose someone I will truly miss in my life.
Maybe it's because I can be such a sentimental person on a day to day basis that when the time is up, whether because the person dies or because I decide to break off a relationship, I'm mostly ok. I have found lately that the only relationships I get nostalgic for are the ones where we didn't get to say goodbye, or the parting didn't have the sanity and perspective that time and distance affords.
Anyway, I did the best I could to try to help keep my family together and to contibute to Lola's funeral services. She was a beautiful person, and I regret not having talked with her more.