Jack.
I find myself standing inside the dimly lit church, the air heavy with a sense of reverence and sorrow. My mother’s side of the family gathers quietly in the pews, their faces a mixture of grief and remembrance. At the front, my grandmother’s coffin rests, draped in soft flowers that convey both beauty and loss, a stark reminder of the life that once filled this space with warmth and laughter.
I received a call on Tuesday morning informing me that she had passed away in her sleep. I didn’t have time to call Anna and let her know until I landed in Ireland.
Now it’s Friday, and all I can think about is returning to LA right after the funeral. I’m not close to my mother’s family, especially since I was taken away at a young age. I remember my grandma trying to fight for me; she want
