Or because he brought me herbs from his acupuncture school to help me sleep and deal with all the emotional upheaval 2009 has thus far brought me.
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So, you know how despite being warned not to wing it during my grandmother's eulogy, that's exactly what I did. As I said that day, I'd text messaged
"Don't write a poem." Yeah, whatever, fuck that.
"Don't make a list." Yeah, whatever, fuck that, too.
"Don't speak extemporaneously."
That one she agreed with. She also suggested I sit down with a bottle of wine.
As
The punchline: My Mother the Lush doesn't have a corkscrew because she doesn't drink wine.
So much for that idea.
Over the next couple of days, I couldn't seem to get anything down in writing, so when the memorial service rolled around on Valentine's Day, I just spoke from the heart. I mentioned that as much as I missed her, I knew my grandmother would continue to be my constant companion in spirit if not in body, that I could still look to her for direction, for advice. "What Would Nana Do," I said, and suggested that I should get that on a keychain.
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Well, yesterday
Thanks, dude.