Someone told me that I should write Grandma’s eulogy.
The child inside wanted to ask why. The teenager inside wanted to be angry and scream.
The adult I am wanted to burst into tears from a place of incredible devastation and from a place of honor for being asked.
I know that nothing is permanent in this world, but I’ve always hoped that the universal law didn’t apply to my Grandparents who always seemed invincible.
I’ll write the eulogy-I’ll be a mess while doing it just as I am every single time I craft one of these posts. As hard as it is, I feel a sense of obstinate ownership of the words as I don’t think anyone else is capable of talking about my Grandma like I am.
I’ll write the eulogy-And foolishly hope to never need it.
