Neena David

Period 5
2/11

Raindrops
Driving on the highway, I noticed that it had begun to rain. I lean my head on the headrest and
look to the window to the left of me. Raindrops were racing against each other, seeing who could reach
the other edge first. More rain started to drizzle onto the window, and the raindrops picked them up as
they energetically dashed across the window. Some new droplets started to emerge, and joined in on
the race to the other side. The new ones began to catch up with the original ones, and raced behind
them. However, the original raindrops, who had become bigger from picking up little droplets on the
window while racing, started to slow down. The new drops slowly approached them, and they merged.
The new drop, now one with the old drop, carried itself over to the other side and finally reached the
other side of the window.
We are finally here. I opened the car door, shaking the raindrops off the window. I step out of
the car, and take a big breath of the petrichor that prevaded the air. Hanging low in the sky were gray
clouds that we could not seem to escape from even after a 70 mile drive. Why did it always rain when
we attended a funeral? As far as I can remember, there was never a time where it was not raining during
a funeral. Funeral number thirteen, I think to myself. Or was it fourteen? I could not remember. I just
prepared myself for the worst and potential tearing up as I walked through the church doors.
The immediate family members of the deceased took turns with their eulogies, songs were sung
in memory of him, and numerous people went up to the podium to say something about him. As always,
I stayed quiet the whole time. The service went by in a static blur, and I was unsure whether I felt like
crying or just had that uneasy feeling that I get at funerals. Although I did not get the chance to see him
too often and we were more distantly related, he was one of my favorite grandfathers. Out of the
dozens of grandparents I have had to memorize the names of, he was one that I would never forget. He
was a very playful person and good humored. There were many times where, despite his age, he tried to
box with my cousins and I. Sometimes it ended with him falling off the couch, but he always laughed it off
like it was no big deal. He gave good life advice when he did not intend to, as if it came naturally to him.
He would tell us in Tagalog after he fell off the couch, “Children, don’t keep worrying about it, we only
live once after all. Now stop blocking the TV, I want to see Manny Pacquiao’s moves!” I have seen and
felt the death of other relatives numerous times before, but this one was the first that shocked me.
Perhaps it was the closeness, but I could not believe he was actually gone.
I nibbled on my fried chicken and fried rice (his favorite foods) in the cramped reception room,
still trying to process the death of my grandfather. Thoughts ran amok in my head: That man? Dead? It
had to be fake. There's no way a man like him could’ve died, we haven’t even had our long awaited
Christmas reunion yet! No. He’s not dead, he’s not dead, he’s not dead–
 Something tapped my shoulder and I jumped. Caught off guard, I whipped my head around to see
who or what did it. There was nothing. I assumed it was just the mood making me anxious, until the
stuffiness of the room suddenly became much more present to me. Its presence started to envelop me
and I could not breathe. I got up and hastily weaved through all the people and searched for the front
entrance. The moment I burst through the doors, a wave of relief washed over me, and I released my
breath. I sat down on the steps underneath the house eaves. I decided to just hang out there for the
remainder of the reception, despite the cold and the rain. It rid my mind of everything, including my
grandfather.
Three months later, I still did not want to accept it. After all, it didn’t seem real, so I did not
think of him as dead. My view on it was that once someone dies, the memories of them also die, and no
one comes up with the courage to bring them up or else someone might cry. That would be like giving
up on him and throwing him into the trash. So, I simply pushed it away for the time being and chose not
to dwell on it. But when we finally had that long awaited Christmas reunion, not a word about him was
spoken. Why was that? People acted like nothing happened, like there someone had not just died. Had
they already accepted it? What was wrong with them, I thought. But perhaps the question I should have
asked was, what was wrong with me?
I knew, deep down there somewhere, that my grandfather would have appreciated it more if I
had just moved on. I have told myself too, so why could I not accept the fact that he was gone? Maybe it
was because I didn’t want the memories to die with him. Maybe I just wanted to deny the negative and
create a world where he did not have to die and reality was fallacious. I really did want to move on, but
the other side of me was torn, not wanting to betray him. So, I pushed it away. The lines between
betrayal and acceptance are often blurred for people when they experience the loss of a loved one. If
you accept something too quickly, you feel guilty because you assume that they will get hurt if their loss
does not seem to make a big impact.
People tend to deny the things that they do not want to see as true, running away from the
truths of things and wishing for a better reality. You run, as far away as you can, but the pressure of
acceptance can come at you from different directions. People, according to human nature, hate being
wrong, and like to have their ideas be the right ones. We deny the thoughts of the negative, which
causes us to run away more than we intend to. The light seems impossible to touch, therefore we run
the opposite direction.
It is okay if you stumble. Your misery will continue in silence if you keep running. Face it, then
carry those memories with you to help you grow. You will be able to develop that way. In order to
accept the changes that lie ahead and get stronger with each step we take, we must put out our best
effort. We, like the raindrops, must carry on their legacies, grow bigger and stronger, and, with their
memories, reach the other side, together.