A funeral, a marriage proposal and a lot of tears

A confession to start with: I’m crying right now. No difference. Real streams flow down my cheeks. The reason is very sad: Sandro’s grandmother recently passed away at the age of 94.

That’s very okay. The woman was allowed to become very old and senile. She emphasized regularly, so every four minutes, that she would like to resign. It was a relief for everyone when the news came that Grandma had passed away. Sandro opened a good bottle of wine, poured him and me a glass, raised the glass and made a touching toast to Grandma.

Then it took me for the first time. Sandro stared at me in disbelief. I only met the woman once. She asked my name every few minutes and forgot my existence just as I replied “Emma” for the 34th time.

I’m bad with death. I can also easily weep for a neighbor’s great-aunt who lived to be 102, lived in the United States and, excuse me, was a wicked old hag.

I just find dying sad and don’t understand that not everyone feels the same. So I drink to Sandro’s grandma and cry snot and water.

Sandro says it’s totally okay. But I don’t have to go to the funeral if that would be too much for me. So here we are: now he has to comfort me. Even though his grandmother passed away.

I pull myself together, want to be a good friend and say I will definitely come to the funeral.

Sandro, he plays the piano, prepares a speech. In church he plays three songs. The first is «S isch mer alles eis ding». Grandma’s favorite song. Sandro sang with her every year at Christmas and birthdays.

Everyone laughs, moved. Some quietly shed a tear. There’s only one that can’t get along anymore. And the more she doesn’t get her act together, the worse it gets.

Mrs. Fischer, Sandro’s mother, who hasn’t liked me since day one, looks at me in horror. Which excites my tears even more. Not only did a poor woman die, no, my friend’s mother found me, Tic-tac-toe would say, Sh-sh-sh-shit.

I don’t have tissues with me. I have never. I distrust people who always carry handkerchiefs. It’s Sandro’s dad, who hands me one and gives me a nice pat on the back. It hits me so much that… you know.

Slowly but surely everyone here is staring at me.

So I steal a dead girl’s last show.

My non-existent self-control is an asshole.

Sandro has now arrived at his speech. She is so incredibly sensitive, beautiful, forgiving and full of love that I can’t even think about calming down. Mrs. Fischer is also upset. She now whispers to Sandro’s sisters. One sits down next to me and hugs me.

SO BEAUTIFUL!

Give me lots of handkerchiefs. In my misery, I try to get at least a little sympathetic nod from Mrs. Fischer. Without success.

Sandro has now arrived at the second piece.

He now plays and sings “Hallelujah”. He looks beautiful when he does it. Otherwise he would never wear this shirt. Those damn good-fitting jeans, that beard, everything.

i want to marry this i will marry him. And now.

When he comes back and sits down and takes my hand tightly in his, I tell him I want to marry him. I’m sobbing. In his ear. I say I’m deadly serious.

Sandro stares straight ahead.

And says nothing.

This irritates me so much that I stop crying for a moment. To start all over again right away, because I’m sure that not only does he not want to marry me, but he wants to leave me after today.

Which you may not blame him for.

Half an hour later we are outside at grandma’s grave. Mrs Visser laughs. Sandro’s sister’s potatoes are rumbling. Sandro is also happy. Everyone is at peace here. Which is very beautiful. So nice that I… have to go to the toilet right away.

Only during lunch in the restaurant do I slowly get a grip on myself. At the end, Sandro and I take another walk through the cemetery. He talks about his childhood. About his memories of his grandmother. From her stable floor. your apple pie. And all the stories she told him in front of the Swedish stove. And all the sweets she secretly gave him.

my heart explodes

Later at home I still want to marry the good guy. But he doesn’t believe/understandably right now.

Now, a few days after the funeral, I don’t think getting married is great. And suits us more. We really think a wild marriage is best for us.

I’m not sure if I say that to myself or talk about it. How do I have to? I am still grieving and emotionally out of control.

But we don’t tell Sandro that.

And certainly not Ms. Fischer.

We don’t tell them that we don’t know anyone as relaxed as they are.

Except for me.

Haha.

Greeting,
Emma, ​​not a fisherman