I always thought funerals were about the living — about our grief, our closure, our memories. But what happened the day we said goodbye to my granddaughter made me question everything I believed.
Lily was just 21. Bright, full of life, and gone far too soon. The authorities said it was an «accidental death.» A cold phrase that did nothing to ease our pain or explain the questions swirling in our hearts.
I’ve seen my share of tragedy. I’m not someone who cries easily. But when they brought in the casket, dark and polished, something in me broke.
