I put on my best shirt, a white shirt from eBay which was somewhat creased and I wore black leggings and a black skirt. I put some make-up on, my pin-stripe hat and my leather jacket.

I spent the day wearing these clothes, my black boots uncomfortable and my shirt too tight, in college. People looked, people said how nice I looked but asked what the occasion was and I'd reply with, "Funeral." An awkward nod would be given and they'd ask who's. And I'd reply with, "My nan's." Some would just look away, some would say sorry and I'd just smile, saying "It's okay."

I drove home early and was picked up at 2pm by my father, dressed in a suit, shirt and tie, and long flowing black coat from Burtons. He smiled, said I looked nice and I said he did too, and we hugged.

We went to the village hall and I was greeted with my dad's side of the family. His sister, Lyn. His sister, Jenny. Their husbands and sons. All of us dressed in black and we stood in silence, staring at the floor.

The hearse drove by and we went up the church path and stood in line. The coffin was taken out of the back and we stood, my father shuddering beside me as he started weeping. Jenny started crying and Lyn sniffled behind me. I wrapped my arm round dad's tightly and squeezed his hand. He looked at me, drew a deep breath in, straightened his back up and we led the way in behind the coffin.

The service was nice. As nice as a funeral service can be. The vicar knew my nan from before, an old friendship. He spoke of God, Jesus, spirituality, peace, things that I just didn't hear. Things that mean nothing to me. Instead, I sat there, holding my dad's hand and holding Lyn's hand.

We sang, somebody read a poem out, and people cried.

The coffin was driven slowly up through the village, the undertaker and vicar walking in front, the fellows who carried the coffin in and out walking behind and we all walked behind. Arms linked, in silence, the sound of my boots scuffing the ground falling on deaf ears.

They lowered the coffin into the ground and stepped away. Jenny threw some soil onto the top, so did Lyn and so did my dad. A joke about Jenny nearly falling in recieved fake chuckles all round and an elbow in the side when he started laughing too much.

A cup of tea and sandwiches in the hall afterwards, I took off and left the scene behind.

I walked to my gran's, texted my friend and she rang me. We talked and I said I could do with a hug and a laugh. She provided the laugh and said she'd hug me tomorrow. We said our goodbyes and I drank tea at my gran's.

Now I'm home and ready to strip off the funeral clothes.

A funeral. My first funeral. My nan's funeral.

But to me, she died a long time ago. Today, she lay in her coffin and against the poem, people stood at her grave and cried.