Memoir: "A Little Too Much"

{this was just a piece I wrote for my creative writing class, which I adore. Just wanted to share it with the net}

I don't quite remember the date, or how tall I was. But I definitely remember the drive from my grandmother's house to the church. I'm sure Granddad posthumously pesters her for not giving him up to science.
I don't remember what I wore or what anyone else did. I do remember, though, wanting to sit down, alone. Everyone was all over me. I know they cared and I respected them for that. But still, I just wanted to breathe, exactly what Granddad couldn't do anymore.
Perhaps that was why he had had the heart attack because of our family. Great. We solved the mystery. That might have been the worst part of all; not knowing why it happened. It wasn't really the constant crying from my parents, siblings, and assortment of relatives. Nor the awkward empty room that Grandma assigns us to sleep in every time we visit. We still call it "Granddad's office".
From the moment Grandma asked me to touch the body that once consumed Granddad, I was enlightened. I felt it all; the weight of deformity through death.
I knew of the subject before this, but just barely. Like first-time tress passers who are too eerie to leave their mark. But by their third or fifth time tress passing they graffiti or litter.
In 5th grade we were asked to answer questions such as "What is your favorite family vacation?" along side "What is your biggest fear?" I wrote "Maine" and "dying". So as I turned away practically puking, I began to cry for numerous reasons besides the one at hand. I cried knowing I would be somewhere like this on a similar occasion but the body would be my mom's, dad's, brother's and sister's. On top of that, I cried knowing that I would die as well, and I would be alone without them, if all goes according to birth rate. Oh, it was all too much for an eleven year old.