Explaining death and burial rituals to a 9 year old...

Lately I've been thinking about my experiences with death.  My first one was when my great-grandfather died.  I was about 9 years old.  I have no memories of him and honestly his death didn't seem to affect me at all, but the one thing that stands out in my mind when I think back to this event is that it was the first time I ever learned about funerary practices and how they differ between cultures.  By this I mean that my father explained (or tried to explain) embalming to my nine year old self.  I had nightmares every day for a week and begged my mom to not make me go to the memorial service.  I couldn't deal with the thought of being in the same room as an embalmed body, especially when I was told that it would also be cremated.  It was all just too creepy! The one factor that made it a lot easier to deal with was when my mother explained that Jews don't get embalmed.  I finally breathed a sigh of relief and moved on from my first encounter with death.  I didn't really think about it again until the next year when my great-grandmother died.  This time was a little rougher.  I actually had memories of my great-grandmother, but I was old enough to realize that it was her time.  She'd been battling Alzheimer's for as long as I could remember and it was nice to know that she was finally at peace.  Anglican memorials were held for both of my great-grandparents, so it wasn't until I was a little bit older that I went to my first Jewish funeral.  Honestly though, that's a story for another time.  Thinking about it still makes me want to cry so maybe I'll share it a bit later.