Joy through Sorrow
As I stood before the congregated group of people on that cold November day, I was standing in a pool of sorrow on the inside.
My father’s mother was more like a mother to me than a grandmother. She was my babysitter during my early years, and I followed everywhere she went. A number of years before her death, she had informed me that she wanted me and my father to speak at her funeral. I had spoken to her a few days before she died and told her it was okay for her to leave. I wasn’t living nearby at the time and couldn’t get away even though I desperately wanted to. And while she left me with great memories, her leaving also left me with enormous sorrow. Read more...
My father’s mother was more like a mother to me than a grandmother. She was my babysitter during my early years, and I followed everywhere she went. A number of years before her death, she had informed me that she wanted me and my father to speak at her funeral. I had spoken to her a few days before she died and told her it was okay for her to leave. I wasn’t living nearby at the time and couldn’t get away even though I desperately wanted to. And while she left me with great memories, her leaving also left me with enormous sorrow. Read more...
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