Why don’t we have eulogies in our culture?
For someone like me, who expresses herself through words, I need that sense of closure. So I guess a blog would have to do.
Who had the imagination to write a love story about the time when Charles de Gaulle saw her in her yellow dress in Damour and fell in love with her. But that she refused him and picked by grandpa instead. (And never let him forget this for the rest of his life)!
Who lived a life quiet. About the things she most wanted to talk about. Oh she nagged about all sorts of crap. But kept silent when she saw the stupid bickering all around. Hoping each of her 10 kids and their spouses and 4-5 grandkids (on average) would resolve it on their own. Oh grandma, you should have spoken. You had so much to say!
Who was so rebellious in spirit that you’d have done wonders if you had been born at a different time. I sit and write this while unconsciously shaking hands with passersby who are here to pay their respect. And I wonder if any of us really knew you.
Who reminds me so much of myself. With her anxieties, her worries, her endless desire to be present. To be seen. And yet she lived her whole life on the sidelines. Someone’s mother. Someone’s wife. Someone’s grandmother. Never her.
Even in death, one can’t be the center of attention.
So this one’s for you grandma. Wish I could say this out loud. For now, this blog will have to do.
p.s. To answer the question you would definitely have asked: yes, we’ve eaten. We’ve had coffee. We’ve had a banana. No. We’re not going to starve.