I have long debated about the opportunity of writing this, because - let's face it - mine is supposed to be a lighthearted blog for people to browse in search of yummy recipes, decorating tips, and assorted nerdy silliness. No one wants to read depressing stuff in his/her free time; I myself will unashamedly skip the occasional "personal tragedy" post every time one such thing pops up in some blog I'm following.
Why? Because they bore me; pain is pretty uninteresting after all, as long as it happens to other people. It's like when you meet someone you know, but don't really relate to: you'll still ask "How are you?" out of politeness, hoping like hell that he'll go "Fine, thanks" and leave it at that. I can, and will, certainly feel compassion for a friend or relative, but I perceive it as rude for a stranger to force his suffering upon me - especially when it's someone who is supposed to actually entertain me. Like, for instance, a blogger.
This long ramble was just to say: feel free roll your eyes at this post and skip it altogether; I won't judge you any worse, because I'd totally do the same.
But, I'm still going to write it.
On Wednesday, January 2nd, my grandmother Francesca passed away. She was 92.
The funeral was this morning, and after it was over, walking into her empty house nearly broke my heart.
She was close to a second mother for my brother and me, and was a brave, generous, indomitable woman. She's the one I was speaking about in this post - just so you understand.
I am not really the kind of person that goes for the old "we'll meet again beyond the veil" solace, still - I will always cherish my memories of our time together, so that the best part of her won't die for a (hopefully) long time.
So long, Granny. And thanks for, well... everything.