A Final Conversation

I wrote and gave this eulogy at Nana's funeral when I was 21. Some parts make 28-year-old me cringe a little... especially the "group participation" section. But I'm leaving it untouched because it's honest, and that's worth more than perfect writing. It went like this... Good evening, everyone. I wanted to start by thanking everyone who could come tonight to celebrate my Nana's life. If you look around you, it's very clear the impact she made. When I think of my Nana, a few things immediately pop into my head: family, friends, faith, loyalty, and happiness. As all of you know, my Nana loved her family more than anything. She adopted two children. I like to call them "Mom" and "the coolest uncle in the world," but you might know them as Holly and Brent. From swim lessons to dirt bike competitions, she was a mother, a provider, and a support system. Unfortunately for them, I was born and stole the spotlight. Sorry, guys! My grandmother's love for me radiated beyond measurable lengths. I am now flooded with memories of pool days, museum trips, and park adventures. I was recently thinking about the first time I drove her in my car. If you've ever been in a car with me, you know I drive fast and don't have the most grandparent-friendly music playlist. But instead of mentioning any of that, she thanked me for driving, said she really enjoyed it, and—wait for it—made sure I got out of the car to hug her. You see, that's the thing about my Nana. For friends and family alike, it didn't take much to make her happy: a hug, a call, a card, or a five-minute visit. She lived to love, was proud of us, and was thankful for everyone. The kind of love we received from her was unmatched. She probably didn't approve of everything we did or like every decision we made, but in my experience, she never lectured or judged. She was always an open ear and could absolutely talk yours off if you just needed a distraction. My Nana was the most loyal person I've ever met. I mean, who works the same job for over 30 years? She was a loyal member of her church, exercise groups, band, school sorority, and so much more. No one can compete with that. This woman stayed busier and went out more than me... and I'm 21. Today, we owe her the justice of remembering her as a strong, courageous, and independent woman. She fought breast cancer three times. She proudly displayed her Race for the Cure medal for everyone to see. She was a survivor, and I know that is how she would want to be remembered. She did not lose this battle. She was always so positive about her treatments and had a great outlook. To me, that is not defeat but the greatest victory of all. The only way we get hurt in this life is to care. Nana cared more than most and loved more than most. So if you're hurting today, that's okay. It means you cared. I want to thank everyone who cared for her. Yes, much like my Nana, I'm still talking. If you want to tune me out now, I get it—but I've realized it may be too late to care. Look around you. Everyone here comes in different sizes, colors, shapes, backgrounds, and walks of life. We are all different, but we share one thing: companionship. In this difficult time, maybe we can make her feel a little closer. Maybe we can lean on and turn to each other the way we turned to her. If you don't mind, I want us to go on a journey together. Grab the hand of the person beside you. Now close your eyes. They say there are five stages of grief and loss. 1. Denial and Isolation: Feel that. Deny that it's true. Feel the urge to be alone. But don't. Let's reach out to each other when we need to talk about her or when we miss her. 2. Anger: Get it out. Be angry at the doctors, the nurses, your family, her, yourself. Now take a deep breath, and in the wise words of The Beatles... "Let it be." 3. Bargaining: This is where the "what if" questions come. Nothing could have been done differently. As much as we'd like to change the inevitable, we can't. 4. Depression: I always called her when I felt depressed. She was my distraction. Pick up the phone. Call anyone in this room. We all share a special love for her, and I know she wouldn't want any of us to suffer alone. 5. Acceptance: This doesn't mean we have to forget. This doesn't mean we have to be happy it happened. It simply means we now have each other to help carry what comes next. (Please open your eyes.) To think that someone felt about us the way she did should give us all some measure of peace and happiness. We must never forget the piece of her she gave to each of us without ever asking for anything in return. That is how we keep her as more than a memory. So, Nana... For your wisdom, compassion, understanding, love, and patience— Thank you.