Halloween's Bitter Sweetness: A Family Memory

Sweet, Not Salty

Today’s the day, where it’s okay to dress up like a crazy axe murderer or a walking corpse without being questioned,the most haunting time of the year, Halloween. To be more specific, it was October 31st, 2013, the day of my grandmother’s funeral.Halloween was always about the sugar, found in the candy, the company, and the atmosphere, but today, all I tasted was salt. Saline to be exact.

The night my grandmother died, my entire family was in her small private hospital bedroom. My aunts, uncles, cousins, the boyfriends of two of my cousins, my mom, dad, sister and I surrounded her bed like sharks waiting for any small movement. We watched her steady heartbeat on the monitor and listened to every single breath

But she did answer, it was 8:23, October 28th, 2013 when a breathless “Okay” slipped past her pale lips before her heartbeat stopped. My family emptied 2 boxes of hospital tissues that night.

It was 7:40 am, and the house was silent. As I woke up I wiped away dried tears and a bit of drool from my face. I hated remembering. The weather was gloomy today, wet and cold, i felt the rain wash over me as I walked to school that morning. I only had one class to go to today, after first period I would be at my grandma’s funeral.

When it came time to be whisked off to the funeral home, it was dead silent in my family’s car. My sister and I were busy on our phones while the radio playing was the only noise between my mom and my dad. When we arrived at our destination, my dad grunted out, “We’re here, go in first.” As I walked towards the funeral home, the scent of my dad 's newly lit cigarette curled around my

Rather than a suit, he was wearing an extravagant golden-yellow buddhist monk robe. As he walked to the center of the front stage, he announces: “ I shall now perform the blessing that will allow her to cross over safely!” I look at my mom and dad in bewilderment, “ what on earth is going on?” My dad cuts me off before I can continue questioning, “ It’s chinese tradition, you will also do this when your mom and I die, so you better find someone good.” I looked back at the director, and all I see is him walking back and forth, occasionally striking a mini gong while chanting something I can’t make out. He suddenly stops, and in a demanding tone, speaks, “ The sons of the deceased, come to the front and begin the burning of the offerings! First, the bridge to her new home!” My dad and uncle walked up to the front of the room next to the table of gifts. Just as instructed, my uncle had grabbed a paper bridge from the table and set it on fire using him lighter, once it was aflame, he threw it into the fireplace. My dad had also grabbed a paper item, the miniature mansion, and lit it, both had continued this process for a