My great-grandmother passed away March 5.
After a month of the funeral flowers sitting in the house, they became what she was to become while dying:
old, wizened, faded, dried up, with stalks so thin that the slightest breeze could blow them away at any given moment. My Nano raised me practically, and to see the woman I adored, who spoiled me rotten and who called me her baby doll, with her severely emaciated frame lying upon the hospital linen was too difficult to take in; it left me with an image too great to shake.
After a month of the funeral flowers sitting in the house, they became what she was to become while dying:
old, wizened, faded, dried up, with stalks so thin that the slightest breeze could blow them away at any given moment. My Nano raised me practically, and to see the woman I adored, who spoiled me rotten and who called me her baby doll, with her severely emaciated frame lying upon the hospital linen was too difficult to take in; it left me with an image too great to shake.
