The Gift of Death
By Tariq Muhammad
In February of 2004 my grandfather died as a result of his alcoholism. No one knows exactly what made him give in, but there is a rumor that not to long after finishing his will, he took the last drink of his undersized life.
I would wonder what would make a man do such a think. I would hope that that rumor was just a story. But whatever the matter, he was gone, and at my age that is all I understood. When he died I was nearly seven years of age, and being as sick as he was, I didn’t get to see him in the last few years of his life.
The ride to his burial place of Gary, Indiana, was a long one. The drive was only seven hours, but the occasion was atrocious.
My mother and I were the only two people from my nuclear family to attend the funeral. After all, it was her father. She had bought me a few trinkets to amuse me during the ride.
About two days before the funeral my mother and I were picked up from Union Station in Chicago by the aunt I never even knew I had. Her name is Tanese, and from what I’d observed, she was very polite. She drove us the rest of the way in Indiana. It was about a thirty-minute drive. When we finally made it there we arrived at the home my Great Aunt Theresa.
It was at her home that I met my other great aunts, Willie B., and Johnnie Mae. I also met their children, my cousins Kim, DJ, and Bill. My great grandmother Minnie and my grandmother arrived later on that day.
From the time we arrived to Gary to the time I left I met a lot of interesting family members, some who would also be lost in the coming years. A lot of the time we would feast and play and have a merry time. But that all ended the day of the funeral.
I was dressed in a fine black tuxedo. I was scared, like I am at most funerals. The walk up the podium to see my grandfather was a long one. When I saw his face I began to see myself a different way. That was my first time seeing a dead body – an actual dead body. I was terrified, so terrified I began to cry.
During the Service, the only thing on my mind was my Grandfather. I wondered why people have to die. It didn’t seem right to me, and it made me feel insecure. After what felt like days the service finally ended. I had become brave enough to take just one more look at him – My Grandfather.
After the funeral we all drove to a up-class restaurant were I met even more family members. My security started to come back. We were catered one of the finest companies in the city and I got a chance to see how beautiful my family really was.
A few nights after that we returned home to Minneapolis. Life went on: we were all to busy to dwell on the past. Time passed, and we all got older, closer to our time.
It wasn’t until I was nine when I learned the truth about my grandfather’s death. Only eleven when I understood why. Only twelve when I could officially pay my respects. But only now, when I accepted it. Now I understand the gift of death and I appreciate the gift of life.
Death can complete a journey and it can begin another. Death can tear a family apart, and in my case bring one together. Now I’m concerned about whom I’ll lose this year. But I’m not scared anymore.
I once heard someone say that Life is the gift you can never thank god enough for. But now I understand that death is the gift that you can never thank him for.
