Sam 2-1/??

I’ve never really experienced death, not in a meaningful way. I don’t have that gnawing void somewhere in my stomach that makes me realize “they’re not coming back.” I’ve never lost a pet (or really kept one), or a friend, or even a close family member. Over the course of my life I’ve lost three of my four grandparents, but they were always absent figures. One pair lived in Colorado, the other in Florida, and we never got along. I was at the funerals for both of my grandmothers, though, out of familial obligation if nothing else.

Looking back, the differences between them are more interesting than anything else. My mother’s mother, Lillian, lived in Colorado at the time. It was winter, or maybe late spring. Rainy, I know that. Everyone came to that one, all of her extended family. She’d been active in the church, and the funeral had happened there with a large attendance. I mostly remember it being wet and cold, and sitting around the hospital in the days leading up to it. I don’t think I cried.

Conversely, my father’s mother died in late November in Florida. It was unpleasantly hot, the way Florida always was, and I was the only grandchild there. I don’t really get along with anyone on that side of the family. Not uncles, not my grandfather, not my intimidating smart wanna be dominatrix NSA-employed cousin. They’re nice, don’t get me wrong, but we’re too different. Also that cousin scares me. Still, I was the only grandchild there. It was a small service and sunny the whole time. I know I didn’t cry then.

I wonder if that makes me a bad person?