Four Funerals and a Wedding

I've been blessed in my life in many ways, but the one I'm more amazed about, is the little amount of important loses that I've suffered.
Four funerals and a wedding may seem a satire to the title of Hugh Grant's movie, but it's not. That's the real amount of important events that I experienced in the last eleven years.
In 1996, My father's mother died after suffering for three months due to an intra-hospital virus. Everything started on March, 3rd, a day before her 51st wedding anniversary. She went to her living room to put the China on the table, because she wanted to have a perfect celebration the next day, but on her way through the long corridor of the old train-like house, she missed a step and fell down breaking her hips.
Her wedding anniversary was beyond her expectancies. She spent it hospitalized. But with the whole family around her. Some days later, she went on surgery to try to fix her broken bones, and it seemed to be perfect. She was sent to her house, and the doctor advised her to start walking as soon as possible. She tried. She walked in pain for a week, until my mother and my father's sister realized that something was wrong with her injury. She was admitted again in the same private hospital, but the doctors discovered that she had a serious infection, and they had to remove the gadget that was implanted in her hips to help her walk again.
From then on, everything went down, she never went back home, she only travelled from I.C.U to a common room and back. On June, 24Th 1996, after a strange dream I had in which she cried to me asking for relief, at 1 p.m. she died in peace.
On February 5Th, 2000, I got married. Against everyone's predictions and expectations, I got pregnant and neither my parents, nor my husband's parents could refuse the idea anymore. They agreed on the decision we'd taken eight months before, when we secretly got engaged. My life was great, I was in love, I was pregnant, I was finally getting married. I would stop lying to my parents in order to have a moment with my boyfriend. I would have the freedom of sleeping whole nights, end enjoy my sleeping without worrying about arriving home before 5 a.m. I would sleep with him...not only serve the natural needs. I was absolutely happy, until the wicked witch (known as my husband's mother) started spreading her intrigues. Anyway, that's subject for another entry.
On December 26Th, 2001, after celebrating Christmas with my in-laws at their house in the countryside, and due to the big crash in economy some weeks before, my beloved father-in-law left us alone in this earthly world. The news knocked me, because he was the fresh air I needed every time I went to their house. He received me as the daughter he never had. He was constantly thinking about my welfare and my son's. In fact, some days before he died, he was thinking about buying me a car "to avoid the risks of handling with my son in buses." He was also my husband's pillar. They used to go hunting and fishing together since my husband was five. They had a close-knit relationship. They felt at ease when they were together. My father in law was human, he was full of flaws, but no one can deny that he was a great man, extremely generous and always thinking about others. I've never seen such a long line of cars accompanying a coffin. The worst part is that I had to carry out with the organization of most of the things when he died. My husband's mother was shocked, as well as her two sons, and nobody in the family was willing to. I still miss him, especially in the countryside house where I saw him alive for the last time. That's one of the reasons why I don't go there as often as my husband wishes. He was 49, and died from a heart attack.
On August 12Th, 2002, I didn't have a funeral for the baby I lost, because it was on its early stages, but I knew it was alive when they showed me the fetus' heart beating in the same study where my doctor said it was an ectopic pregnancy, and I needed urgent surgery to remove it.
The third funeral was my mother's father. To tell you the truth, I don't remember the date. He was old, he was not my grandfather, he was just my mother's father. I never had a grandpa-grand daughter relationship with him. In fact, some time after his death, I heard that my mother's mother told one of her friends that "I stood at the door looking at his dead body as if I were looking at a dead dog." My first thought was: "She has to be kidding!" but then a strong anger appeared. I didn't know that man when he was alive, I was there because of my mother. When I had the chance to meet him, he was flying on a distant star because of his hydrocephalus disease! He didn't know me! However, I'm not a monster, I'm just reluctant to see dead bodies. I went there because of my mother. I accept that I didn't spill a tear for him. I didn't know that man. But I never looked at him as she thought.
The last funeral was on October 2nd, 2006. Our Lola Mora's Headmaster died out of the blue. He was a doctor and I still wonder why on earth he couldn't cure himself as he may have done with others. I remember that I used to think that he was too serious. I used to believe that he was unreachable. In time I understood that he was a great man. He was the one who supported Jesi and me when we were preparing Halloween in 2005. Against all odds, he encouraged us to continue with our project without paying attention to the stones we had on our way. He was the strong figure that we knew the very first day of classes walking through our school's long corridors. He was the one who showed me his pride when he learnt that Jesi and me were presenting a lecture in a conference. He was the one that treated Jesi and me as if we were special. He used to make jokes to Jesi and me. He was the one who let us waiting for him forever. I regret now because I didn't want to bother him when he was hospitalized. I really wanted to see him and tell him that for me he was my "uncle Albert," that I was so happy of having met him, that he was the perfect driver for the big Lola Mora Airplane.
Uncle Albert, you were my last big loss, and sometimes I find myself looking through our classroom window, as if I were waiting to see you walking and smiling at me as you used to.
The pain will go in time. At this moment, I still spill a tear when I stop in my everyday rush, and reflect on the ones that are not with me anymore.
Hoping that all of you are better where you are, once again...GOOD BYE!