At my grandmother’s funeral, I noticed my mother quietly slip a small, mysterious package into the coffin. Later, driven by curiosity, I retrieved it—never imagining it would uncover painful secrets that would linger with me forever. People say grief rises and falls like waves, but for me, it’s like stepping into darkness and missing a stair. My grandmother, Catherine, wasn’t just family—she was my anchor, my safe place. With her, I felt cherished beyond measure. Standing beside her casket, I felt unmoored, as if I were trying to breathe with only half my lungs.
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