My church sister's life was celebrated this week. I don't remember her, not even from the picture on her funeral programme. But, her name is Pearl. Affectionately called Miss Pearl.
I came out of the church office that day and decided to attend the funeral, for reasons of which some will be undisclosed.
I noticed that some of the loved ones were fainting and being hauled out of the church into sunlight and fresh air.
The funeral started. I sat in a pew near the back of the church. The liturgist began the ceremonial talk and started to introduce the order of the service. There was a stomach turning wail. It sounded like how I imagined an exorcism of a demon would sound...it was deep, loud and excruciating in its pain.
My eyes began to well with tears.
I tried to blink them away - I was at a church sister's funeral who I did not even know. I should not cry. I would look like an unhinged person. My tears began to flow.
My Grandma, who was also called Miss Pearl affectionately, suffered so very much before she died. She'd been very sick. The extent of her sickness we didn't realize until it was too late. I've come to terms with the fact that she wanted to go home. I miss her, but I'm glad she is finally resting.
But it hurt me, watching her suffer. Suffering is such cruelty.
So, when I heard that anguish coming out in that cry in the funeral on Wednesday, my brain said to my heart which said to my eyes - It's ok. And I wept.
My mascara was runny, and my eyeliner. The son came up after and did a musical tribute to his mom. The eulogy was gulped, stammered and trembled out. And my tears flowed. I actually rubbed my own hair and back emotionally and said, it's ok. You can cry.
My Grandma gave me so much love. The quality love that we hear about in novels and see in movies. Sometimes, we experience it in our own lives. No greater love hath a man, than he lay down his life for his friends. My Grandma was my friend.
I feel desolate sometimes because the only part left of that great love I experienced through her is in my memory. It is no longer here. I cried at the funeral because it touched me how unchecked the family's emotions were. Because I saw a similarity in how much Sister Pearl and her family loved each other. I cried because I felt alone. Because I had lost my love.
I love you TPP.