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I sat in my chair, rigid, not knowing what to feel. Everyone around me was crying, but there were no tears on my cheek. Sobbing, they all walked by him; in groups they discussed how good he looked. I didn't understand. The rituals, the talk, the crying, it was all too much for me. I just sat there, silent, taking it all in. It took all my courage, but I got up. I walked slowly …

…my mind. But I did not cry. The next day at the funeral, I said goodbye. My family had asked me to play my flute at the service. During Mass, after Communion, I played Going Home for my grandfather. It was the most pure sound, and it echoed throughout the old stone church. I wanted to scream when I was through, but I just thought and whispered, "Stop smoking, just stop smoking those darn cigarettes."